


Blade Master

by dont_hate_me01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BDSM, Blood!Kink, Bondage, Bottom!Sam, D/s, Drama, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Knife!kink, M/M, Male Slash, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Torture, Violence, hurt!Dean, pain!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_hate_me01/pseuds/dont_hate_me01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of ten, Dean Winchester was kidnapped and turned into something that men refer to as a monster - a serial killer of the innocent. Now, years later it's up to Sam to pull Dean back from the darkness, because without each other, both brothers will not survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art contains spoilers to referred chapters.

**Artist:** [](http://nanoks.livejournal.com/profile)[**nanoks**](http://nanoks.livejournal.com/)  
 **Author:** [](http://dont-hate-me01.livejournal.com/profile)[**dont_hate_me01**](http://dont-hate-me01.livejournal.com/)  
 **Beta:** [](http://tattooeddevil.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tattooeddevil.livejournal.com/)**tattooeddevil**  
 **Title:** Blade Master  
 **Genre:** Supernatural AU  
 **Pairing:** Dean/OMC, Dean/Sam  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** BDSM, D/s Relationship, M/M sexual intercourse, Strong language, Torture and violence.  
 **Spoiler alerts:** Characters of Season 2, 3 and 6 will be referred to or make an appearance in this fic.  


[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap1pro.jpg)

  


**Prologue**

_2 May 1989_

_John Winchester kicked at the door and felt it splinter beneath his boot. His gun was steady in his hand as he made sure the room is secured before he stepped inside. The room was in shambles, the small table that served their needs for a place to eat was thrown to the side, the four chairs all broken, pieces all over the floor, even against the built-in closet on the far side of the room._

_“Dean, Sam!” John yelled, as he looked frantically around the small room, trying to catch sight of his two boys. “Dean, answer me!” John bellowed again. He couldn’t help but to feel the fear building up in side of him. Once again there was no reply and he was about to storm out of the room again when a sound reached his ears._

_“Sammy?” John whispered as his throat threatened to close up. He heard the sound again and quickly he made his way over to the closet. The soft whimpering sounds got louder as he got closer to the door. Both his sons’ duffle bags were stacked up against the door, a piece of chair hanging off the top bag._

_He didn’t hesitate one second further but pulled the door open. His heart shattered into a million pieces as he saw his youngest son lying in a small bundle underneath their coats. Only his hazel eyes were visible as he shivered from head to toe._

_“Sammy?” John stretched out his arms and within seconds he held the trembling six year old in his arms. “Shh, baby, daddy’s got you.” John knew he had to calm Sam down before he would be able to get anything sensible out of the small boy. In the meantime his heart was filled with fear… Where was his oldest son, where was Dean?_

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
**22 July 2006**

He looked down at his bloody hands before he lowered his favorite knife and picked up the rag that he always kept nearby, smearing the stained rag even more as he looked on with soulless eyes at his latest victim.

The young man’s eyes were nearly glazed over, his last breath mere seconds away. Dean loved looking at his victims to see how death approached them, always without fear – not caring that they still had a life to look forward to, plans that they made, careers that they wanted to pursue. To death it was about one thing and one thing only – to take what was due to him, the moment you are born you belong to death; it was just part of the greater picture. It was their destiny.

Dean kneeled at his victim's head. When he picked him he knew every little detail of his life, his date of birth, his length and weight, where he went to school and even his favorite color. Now, now he was just a piece of meat, already something of the past. Dean would move on the moment death took over. He smiled as the man jerked once, his breath leaving his body for the last time and then – then it was over.

Dean stood up, took the corner of the tarp he used and started to roll the dead weight up. He had ten minutes to get the body out of this warehouse, another fifteen minutes to get across town to the dumping site, five minutes to dump the body and then just under an hour to make sure he steps out in front of his newest mark to begin the next round of games. All part of a busy morning – all part of the perfect hunt.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
**Sioux Falls, South Dakota (Same Day)**

Sam sighed as he turned around and quietly closed the door behind him. Another chapter in his life has come to an end; one that he never thought would end – not like this anyway. _‘Dean.’_ There wasn’t a day that passed without him thinking at least once about his brother – his protector. Losing Dean like that all those years ago not only left a six year old heartbroken, but it was also the final straw that broke John Winchester and sent him right over the edge. He could still remember packing up and leaving that motel in less than ten minutes before they were in the Impala and on the road. John raced back to the tavern where he got involved in a brawl two nights prior where his family was threatened. He was sure that they had Dean, but it turned out he was wrong.

Bobby was called in for help. Joshua, Caleb, Pastor Jim, every hunter in the country was called, even Ellen who had sworn that she would rather see John Winchester rot in hell than to ever help him again, but to no avail. Dean Winchester disappeared from the face of the earth and it took less than five minutes. Sam still couldn’t recall what happened, he only knew that Dean pushed him into the closet and told him not to make a sound or to come out until Dean or their father came for him. Sam also still believed it was his fault.

Sam smiled tiredly as Bobby looked up from his work. “They’ll release his body this afternoon.”

Bobby nodded his head. “I’ll make sure it gets collected and brought here.” He looked at Sam closely before he spoke up again. “Are you sure you want to do it this way, boy?”

“It’s what he would’ve wanted, Bobby. It’s the proper way to bury a hunter.” Sam turned to leave the room. He didn’t want to deal with it now. It would be hard enough to stand at the funeral pyre and see his dad's body going up in smoke.

Bobby nodded again, it looked like he wanted to add something, but he remained quiet. He would talk to Sam later, after everything was done.

“Bobby,” Sam turned to face Bobby. “I’m going to stop hunting. I need to find Dean.” He didn’t give Bobby a chance to respond, but turned around and exited the room. It was time he spent all of his time on this one task instead of just in between hunts; Dean was the only thing he had left in his life and it was time he got him back.


	2. Blade Master: Chapter 1

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap1a.jpg)

  


**Chapter 1**

“So, is that a yes, will you have dinner with me?” He smiled as he leaned up against his car, tilting his hips in such a way to show the man standing across from him that he was interested.

Matt smiled softly and then nodded yes. “I would love to have dinner with you.” He still couldn’t believe that Dean just asked him out on a date. He first spotted, or should he say, ran into Dean two weeks back when he stepped out of the coffee shop and didn’t watch where he was going, walking straight into Dean, spilling his hot coffee all over him. He apologized frantically, and was surprised when the other man didn’t even get angry, but just smiled softly, his green eyes flickering as if he was sharing a joke. Matt couldn’t pull his attention away from the man’s face; his sun kissed freckles decorating his face gave him a boyish look, but it was his lips that held Matt's attention. He would’ve given his soul to have them stretched around his cock to suck him down.

“Great,” Dean smiled. “I know this perfect little place, I’ll pick you up at six?”

“Sounds good to me, can’t wait.” Matt stepped closer and leaned into the other man’s space. “See you later.” He tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on Dean’s mouth, groaning hard as Dean pulled him into his embrace and kissed him back hard. He could feel Dean’s hard body against his own and for a moment he wondered if they could just skip the dinner part and go to the fucking part.

Matt groaned again as Dean gently pushed him away. He smiled as he saw the lust in Dean’s eyes. “Dinner first.” Dean kissed him softly again and then moved around to get into his car. “Dress nicely.”

“I will.” Matt stood on the sidewalk until Dean’s car disappeared around the corner. He still couldn’t believe his luck.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam looked at the walls around him, all covered up in neatly written notes, police reports – some pages yellowed with time - and newspaper clippings. Each one told a different story, each story part of a new chapter and each chapter came from the same book. The book of Dean Winchester.

He tiredly ran his fingers through his long bangs and sighed. When he started searching for Dean all those years ago it was not only different, but a totally different scenario. He only had a limited time to look for Dean, he hunted with his father twenty four seven and the only time he really had to look for Dean was in between research for their next hunt or on the occasions John got too friendly with Johnny Walker. Each and every time he would go through every lead his dad ever picked up, turning it over and over, picking it apart piece by piece. As time went by he picked up something that made him frown, shake his head, shrug his shoulders, but instead of dropping it, he added it to his _Dean board_. He couldn’t explain it, not to his father, not even to Bobby, he just knew it was part of Dean – it fitted.

Now that he was looking for Dean on a twenty-four hour basis he looked at that extra piece of puzzle that never really fitted. It was actually more then just an extra piece, it was a whole puzzle on its own, but not a new one. With his hacking skills he had more information at his disposal on the _Demonic Angel_ than the whole FBI put together. The timeline fitted perfectly if you could believe a word the profilers said – the problem – they were spot on. The _Demonic Angel_ was raised as a hunter, he knew how to shoot a weapon and how to use a blade even before he knew how to spell his own first and last name correctly. That basis was built on, by whoever took Dean. Sam knew now that Dean’s kidnapping was a well-planned operation. The people who took Dean knew John was a hunter, knew that the ten year old boy was skilled in the art of hunting down monsters. They knew he was a soldier, one that could be trained into becoming the perfect killing machine. Sam had a feeling that the government was hiding something and that Dean was not just another serial killer. He might have gone rogue, but he was a product of the government of the USA. Sam would bet his own life on it. That was also the reason Agent Victor Henriksen was put on the case. He was a badass man, closing cases just as fast as serial killers picked their next victim. What made things that more pressing was the fact that none of the killers agent Henriksen ever apprehended made it out alive. They always ended up dead. Sam knew his time was limited; he had to act fast.

Sam sighed and then looked at the information in his hand again. “Dean’s the _'Master of the blade.'_ ;” He had to say it out load, it was the only time he could say it – to hear the words spoken from his own mouth. He felt the bile rise up in his throat and even as he stumbled over to the bathroom and heaved hard into toilet he knew he was right. He had to save Dean, not only from himself, but from the government as well. He would do anything in his power to save his brother – his brother that was seen as a serial killer, the worst in the history of mankind. But first, he had a call to make.

“Bobby?” Sam’s voice held doubt and he wondered if it wasn’t too late to change his mind, but he knew he couldn’t. John Winchester might have been his father, but Bobby Singer was his dad and he shared everything with him.

“I... I found, him.” Sam whispered and frowned when he found his own cheeks wet. He was crying and not even aware of it until now. He explained to the older man everything he found and what he intended to do. It never seized to amaze him how supportive Bobby was of him.

“I’ll be careful, Bobby. I promise.” Sam sighed as he ended the call. He had to get some sleep, starting tomorrow things would be totally different.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Matt whimpered in fear. He was stretched out over a crudely constructed table; naked as the day he was born. The ball gag in his mouth was shoved there hours ago when the man he’d thought had an angel face and a sweet personality decided that he had enough of his whining and begging and shut him up. His lips were stretched over the ball; it pressed his tongue down, making it difficult for him to swallow. Drool streamed down the sides of his mouth, adding to the tears that kept on streaming down his cheeks.

“I really wish you’d stop sniffling like a baby. I can’t concentrate if you keep on doing that.” Dean was annoyed as he pulled sharply at Matt’s hair bending the tied up man’s head to an almost breakable angle. “I thought you said you loved bondage.” He sneered before he released his hold of Matt’s head and stepped away from the table.

He was getting bored fast. The thrill of the chase was leaving his body and now that he had his next masterpiece lying on the table he just wanted to be left in peace to concentrate on his work, but the fucking crying man kept on breaking his concentration. Dean knew he had enough sedatives around to knock the guy out, but that would be no fun so he had to bite his tongue and try to concentrate.

“You’ve got a lovely body.” Dean’s voice was filled with praise, he could appreciate when a man worked out, took care of himself, was in good shape. “You should know – your predecessor holds the new record. He let me work on him for eighteen hours before we broke for the first time.” Dean shook his head. “Unfortunately thereafter he only lasted another three. It was a shame.” Dean smiled dangerously as he saw the fear in Matt’s eyes.

“Graham, is it?” He knew perfectly well what his victim’s name was, on top of eye color, length and mass and how long each one lasted – exactly to the second. It’s all part of the game.

Matt shook his head, but he could see that Dean was not really concerned if he called him by the correct name or not. He knew he was right when Dean just shrugged his shoulders.

“Whatever.” Dean held the knife in the light so that Matt could see the blade he had in his hands. “This is my favorite. It was given to me by my Master after I made my first kill.” He stroked the blade lovingly. “I wish I could let you feel the balance of it as it rests in your palm. It looks heavy, but is deceivingly light. The blade is made of titanium, the grip made of micarta – and you know why that’s so important?” Dean grinned. “I can spill as much blood as I want too – it never gets slippery, my grip always remains perfect. My art remains perfect.” He shook his head at the word _art_ , it wasn’t supposed to be art; it was supposed to be work – to be a necessity.

Dean sighed. His Master would be furious with him, one of the first rules of the trade was never to speak to your victim, you can talk about it, but you can’t address it directly – it confuses the situation. It’s like talking to your food before you eat it, it was just not done. He would have to pay penance for his lack in concentration, but first he needed to see just how far he could go tonight before he called it a day.

Dean flicked the blade over the tip of his thumb and grinned in appreciation as the droplet of blood appeared even before he could remove the blade from his skin. “Perfect.” He looked down at the man tied up, “Let’s begin.”

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam jolted on the bed as another nightmare ruined any chance of getting some decent sleep. Sam never slept decently. Not for the last nineteen years in any case, not after his sixth birthday. He brought his arm up and looked at his watch. It was time to get ready. The _Master of the blade_ ’s latest victim was found nearly thirteen hours ago. Matt Jeffrey had been missing for three days, twenty hours and five minutes before he was found. Sam knew that Dean was out there stalking his next victim. He needed to be out there – he needed to make sure he became the next intended victim. It was the only way to save Dean, to save himself. 

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Dean looked up from the newspaper as the small chime above the door signaled yet another person’s entrance into the small coffee shop. He wished he had his Glock with him, not only would he shoot the fucking irritating chime clear off the door, but he would empty the clip into the old hag of an owner as well. It was just not on to be so kind and so friendly, especially at nine in the morning with no coffee inside of you.

His attention was drawn back to the door when the doorframe filled with a man at least six foot six and weighing about two hundred and thirty pounds. Not an inch of fat could be seen on his body, his torso packed with muscles. Dean could feel himself grow hard at the thought of not only fucking into that man, but to get him under his knife. He would stray from his plan for this one.

Dean nearly creamed himself as the man smiled to the obnoxious woman behind the counter and he saw the cutest dimples on him. He would love to run his fingers over the impressions, edging into them with his knife, making them a permanent feature on the young man’s beautiful face. There was something else that caught his attention too, something about the young man that showed he had a hard time growing up and that he didn’t trust easily. It was in the way he carried himself and it was something Dean himself could relate too.

Brad looked over the heads of the patrons in the small coffee shop until his eyes landed on a figure sitting in a corner, his back to the wall with a view of the whole shop. He was dressed in faded jeans and a leather jacket that looked old. In a manner he stuck out like a sore thumb, one would not usually associate his type with a place like this. Brad smiled as the man’s eyes met his gaze and then took a seat at one of the small tables. Just the way the leather clothed man looked at him made him hard.

Dean saw the young man looking at him and he smiled. Yes, he would put his plan on hold for this one and play a little. The lucky Mr. James Riekert would get to live a few extra days on earth. He finished his coffee and made his way over to pay. He was aware of the fact that the young man who caught his attention stood behind him. Dean turned around and held his head bowed and bumped right into the man. “Sorry,” he smiled softly and knew by the look in the man’s eyes that he just made a lasting impression.

“No, no need to be sorry. I’m the one who should say sorry, my momma always says I’ve got no sense of personal space.” He smiled and the dimples made their appearance yet again.

“Sounds like you’re close to your family?” Dean asked and held his breath for the answer to be no. It would make things just so much simpler.

Dimples shook his head. “No, my momma passed away a few years back and I never got to know who my father was. Just me.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dean made sure he sounded sincere.

“Thanks.” Dimples looked at his watch. “I need to get to work, hope to see you around.” He smiled before he headed out of the shop.

“Hope so too.” Dean returned the smile. Things were looking up. By the end of the week he’d have not one, but two masterpieces on his table.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam looked at the coroner’s report and shook his head. It was no wonder his wayward brother was described as being a master with a knife. The carvings on the soles of his victims’ feet were real pieces of art – tattoos. What made it more interesting was the fact that it was colored in with different colors of ink and according to the lab report all of the ink used had one ingredient in common – human blood. And the blood used never corresponded with the victim’s blood. The DNA was unique and most of the experts involved in this matter were of the opinion that the blood belonged to the killer himself. Sam was certain that that was not the case. His brother would never leave any piece of himself behind; if they took a closer look at the bodies they would’ve realized that as well.

He pinned the photo of Matt’s feet up on to his board after he scribbled a few notes on a sticky note and attached it to the photo as well. The next photo showed the victim’s legs. Here the torture was of a different nature. On parts of the legs were there was still skin visible, it was clear that Matt’s legs were shaven. Sam was certain it was done with a knife and not a razor; he couldn’t imagine Dean using a razor if he could get the same result with a blade in his hands. After Matt was shaved clean, strips of his skin were removed, leaving the flesh and the muscles underneath intact. The pieces of skin were less than quarter of an inch thick, so thin one could most likely see through it if you held it up to the light.

It would have taken Dean a couple of hours on each leg as all of the pieces of skin were peeled off in one continued length, like trying to peel an apple without letting the skin break up into pieces.

Matt’s upper legs, thighs and buttocks were just sliced up. It was clear that this damage was done in the end and he didn’t even have to read the post mortem report to know that the cause of death was blood loss, most likely caused by these injuries.

Sam was nauseated by the photos of Matt’s abdomen and back. The easiest way to describe the wounds would be to say that Matt was filleted, like you would do to a piece of fish or even a chicken. Two large pieces of skin just held together at his sides by a small stroke of skin that was left intact. These injuries were also done in one motion, but it ran deeper. The flesh still attached to the skin, while the muscles and bones were on display. This was done over hours, and would’ve caused Matt to black out and lose consciousness more then once, which then would make Dean stop until he knew his victim was awake again. Sam didn’t know how he knew this, but he knew he was right.

The last photo was the one no one else outside of the special task force knew about, except for Sam. It was Dean’s calling card. The tattoo was always present in the nape of his victims’ necks. It was done with a tattoo gun and it was done free hand, no stencil used. It was a naked man with his legs drawn up and his head resting on his knees with large angel like wings spreading from his back. It was the saddest tattoo Sam had ever seen. But he also knew that that was the one thing that would get him connected with Dean.

He used his scanner and made a copy of the photo. With Photoshop he edited the image until it was all cleared up and ready to be presented to the tattoo artist that would draw this piece of art on his own nape. It was time.


	3. Blade Master: Chapter 2

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap2.jpg)

  


**Chapter 2**

Dean laughed and curled his hand around Brad’s fingers. If things were different - if pigs could fly - he could've easily settled down with this man. But things were not different, pigs certainly didn’t fly and Brad, well Brad’s number was up. It was time for Dean to play. He leaned forward and kissed Brad softly, his tongue brushing against the other man’s bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. Brad sighed and his lips parted. He tasted sweet, of candy and one or other frothy latte. The taste suited him.

He pulled away from the lingering kiss as Brad’s fingers traced his face. He could see the questions in the other man’s eyes and had to smile to himself, Brad will run fast and hard if he should ever learn the truth about his tattoos. Some days he wished he could rid himself of them, other days, like today, he was proud of them. They were part of him – it was what made him what he is – it was his hell.

“Where?” Brad asked as he traced the barbed wire tattoo again but stopped as Dean shook his head. “Sorry.” He pulled his hand away.

“No need to be sorry, just not the time to tell.” Dean pressed their bodies together, his own hardness lying stiff against his abdomen. He would like nothing more then to bury himself deep within this man, but it would ruin his plans, and he can’t have that. “I need to get going. Can we meet up again later tonight, I know this place where the food is to die for.” Dean grinned. He knew Brad would agree, they always do.

Brad sighed. He couldn’t believe that Dean wasn’t going to fuck him senseless, but the fact that he wanted to take him out to dinner meant or he hoped it meant that he would get fucked tonight. He would surely die if that were not the case. “Sounds great. Want me to meet you there?”

Dean shook his head. “Get me at the coffee shop around six, I’ve got a few errands to run before that.”

Brad smiled and leaned forward as Dean took his mouth in another kiss. This was what heaven was made off.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam groaned as the needle once again scraped across his over-sensitive skin. His neck was killing him and he was ready to call for a break. Sitting with his neck bent like this for more than an hour already was making him sore. He started off being centered within himself, going through his plan step by step, calming himself with the hum of the tattoo machine, but he lost his concentration too often. His dad would’ve whipped his ass if he knew how easily he got distracted.

He sighed in relief as the artist called for a break. He could feel by the slight burn of his neck that the area was red and would even bleed a bit. He took up one of the handheld mirrors and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Already the angel on his neck was taking shape. The feathers drew his attention immediately, they were almost perfect and knew that Dean would be drawn to it the moment he saw it.

The thought of Dean made him shiver. It was by mere coincidence that he saw his long-lost brother this morning. Dean was sauntering past and by just the way he walked Sam knew. His brother already had his next victim and Sam was scared. He had no idea if he was going to be in time. He had to move - fast - but he still needed to be careful. He couldn’t fuck this up.

Sam lowered himself into the chair as the artist called him back. He bent his neck down again and concentrated on his breathing, getting himself into the proper headspace for what lay ahead.  


[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Dean looked up as the coffee shop’s chime made it known that there was someone entering the shop again. He smiled as Brad entered and lift his hand in greeting. It always amazed him just how pathetic the human race was. Here he was in broad daylight, tattoos clearly visible across his face, smiling from ear to ear ready to kiss another man senseless and then hopefully by the end of tomorrow see the life flickering out of his eyes. When Brad’s face ended up on the front of every newspaper in the country as his latest victim no one would even mention him. Although he always got noticed, people tended to forget about him, making them disappear with their own stupidity.

When Brad leaned in, Dean kissed him hard, his hands trailed over the other man’s body and he let them travel down his sides until he cupped Brad’s ass, pulling him deeper into his embrace. Brad was hard and Dean couldn’t help but to smile. It was going to be an interesting night. He wondered how long Brad would be hard before his cock became flaccid, refusing to come up without at least one hand to assist it.

Brad groaned and wanted nothing more than to go down on his knees and suck this god of a man hard, right here in the middle of the coffee shop. He would do anything just to get Dean’s attention. He never felt like this before. Tonight was going to be a good night.

Dean could see the lust in Brad’s eyes and he smirked. This man was so predictable, just like all the others – so gullible. His attention got drawn away from Brad as the chime piped up again. His eyes widened as he saw the man entering into the coffee shop. Dean frowned, the man looked familiar, but Dean was sure he’d never laid eyes on him before. He looked on as the man walked pass them, a smile decorating his face as he met Dean’s eyes before he respectively lowered his eyes. Dean’s cock hardened, never in his wildest dreams did he thought that he would came across something like that, especially not in a mundane place like this. He looked at Brad who was trying to get his attention and smiled.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam knew he was too late. He knew Dean had noticed him, but he also saw the look his brother gave the guy that was wrapped in his embrace. He didn’t know what to do. Yes, he knew he had to save the guy – there was no other thing to do. He really hoped that he was in time. He should’ve known better. He dragged his hands through his long bangs and counted slowly to five before he stood up and left the shop himself. He saw Dean and the guy go around the corner and he followed. This was not the way he planned things, but he had no other choice, he just had to improvise.

Sam cursed as he saw Dean leading the man to his car. It was not Dean’s own car; that he was sure of. He knew that before the end of the week that stolen car would be found abandoned somewhere, stripped of every usable part, the body torched. He had to act fast and grabbed his car keys from his pocket. His own ride was parked on the opposite corner, he hoped that fate would play along and that he would be able to follow them at a discreet distance.

Fate indeed seemed to play along as the traffic made it possible to slide in after Dean into the street. Sam made sure that there always at least two other vehicles between him and Dean at any given point in time. He slowed his speed even more, making sure that he just kept Dean’s ride in his sight as they entered a rougher part of town and the traffic started to thin out considerably.

Dean looked in the rearview mirror and frowned. He'd picked up a tail and although the man made sure to keep the distance, Dean was trained by the best. The hair in his neck didn't stand on end so it was definitely not a cop that was trailing him, but it was something he had to get rid of soon. He saw an opportunity to get rid of the tail and took it, smiling as he took the corner skidding around it, making his ride disappear into a narrow alley that was now neatly blocked by a large delivery truck. He slapped Brad on the thigh and grinned. "Just always wanted to do that." He left it at that and concentrated on the road again. He would have to be careful from now on, but first it was time to play some more.

"Fuck!" Sam yelled as he watched Dean's car disappear. He was stuck on this one way and couldn't follow. By the time he made it around again Dean would be long gone. He slammed his hand hard on the steering wheel and cursed again. He couldn't believe it, but he also knew he couldn't give up. Not if he wanted to save the guy Dean had with him. He took some calming breaths and slowly he made it through traffic. It seemed like luck was on his side again when he made it around the block and this time the short alley Dean took was open. He had no idea which way to go so he relied on his instinct and took the first left he could. He worked the backstreets in a grid, making sure to check each and every street up and down, not missing any alley. Sam got out of his car to walk most of the blocks. It was getting late and he was glad that he'd tucked his Taurus into the back of his jeans. It was the second to last deserted building in the dead of the night that made Sam take a second look. This was the place. He had no idea why he would think so, there was no sign of Dean's car, there was no sign of anyone entering that building in over a long time, but Sam knew if he could find a way into the building he would find Dean.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Tear streaks decorated Brad's face as he looked at the man he thought could be the love of his life. He couldn't believe how badly things had gotten these past few hours. He was so excited when Dean told him that he wanted to take him out to dinner, he even took it so far in preparing himself, hoping that Dean would fuck him as soon as dinner was finished. Now though, now he was laid out on a table, spread incredibly wide, but not by Dean's cock. If felt as if his shoulder blades and hipbones where going to pop out as a result of the strain on them.

When Dean first brought him through the basement he thought it was a strange way to enter a restaurant, but Dean smiled at him and it left him at ease. He should've known something was wrong when he saw no other person coming or going around them. He couldn't hear anything and he definitely couldn't smell any food being prepared. When the warning bells in his head went off it was already too late. He tried to fight, he really did, but it was as if he was a small child fighting against a grown man. In mere seconds Dean had overpowered him and had flung him hard down onto the table. His arms where stretched and shackled tightly, the same with his feet. At that time he tried to scream for help, but he only managed to give Dean the opportunity to fill his open mouth with a ball gag. He panicked and must have passed out as well, because when he became aware of his surroundings again he was naked. His clothes ripped of his body, tatters of the material still clinging to the table beneath him.

Brad whimpered as Dean stepped up to the table. He had a knife in his hand that he had been sharpening for the past five minutes. He couldn't help but to shiver as he wondered what was going to happen to him next. Even thought he was gagged he still tried to plead, his own words sounding weak and pathetic to his ears. He was not prepared for that would happen next.

Dean grinned down at the man that was tied up. He could smell the fear radiating from him and it made him hard, but pleasure had to wait. He let his fingers run over Brad's lower legs, stroking them over and over again before he lowered his knife slowly. Knowing that the man would try to jerk his leg away even though he was shackled down, he placed a bracing hand on the knee to keep him immobilized.

Brad shivered as Dean brought the knife closer to his skin and he did try to move away, but found it impossible. His whole body trembled in fear and he sucked in a hard breath as the cold blade touched his skin. He had no idea what to expect, but this wasn't it. He didn't know if he should laugh or cry when Dean slowly used the blade to start shaving him clean. It was clear that Dean knew what he was doing from what Brad could observe with his neck strained to see what was going on. Not once did Dean nick the skin, instead he moved with slow, sure strokes taking care to shave each hair clean off. Within minutes Brad's left leg was clean-shaven and Dean moved over to the right, repeating the same process. Brad couldn't believe it, but he actually started to relax underneath Dean's hands. Maybe things where not as bad as he initially thought.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam shimmied the blade to open the window latch. He had been at it for more than five minutes already, taking it extremely slow not wanting to make any unnecessary noise. He knew he had to take it easy as the place was most likely rigged with booby traps, he couldn't afford to trigger any of them.

He managed to wedge the window open and slowly entered the basement. He'd seen the door and knew Dean would've used the door to get into the building so he knew it would be foolish to even try to use it as a point of entry. By the layer of dust on the floor in front of the window it was clear that no one had come near this window in a long time and it was a safe bet that he could enter it without much difficulty or be discovered for using it. On the inside he closed the window up again, checked his weapons again and then took a closer look at his surroundings. It looked like a storeroom, judging by the numerous boxes stacked hazardously around the room. He noted the door on the left and made his way over. Before he opened the door he went down on his stomach and looked underneath the door, glad that he brought his penlight. He made sure there was no tripwire running across the bottom of the door and hoped that his instinct was right and that Dean would rather place the wire at the bottom then attach it to the handle. He sighed in relief as he managed to open the door, without tripping any alarm and stepped into a darkened hall. He made sure his breathing and heart rate were controlled, giving himself more control over the level of adrenalin in his body before he turned left. He could see two rooms in front of him. One on the left; the other on the right.

The first door was locked and Sam didn't even bother to try to get entry into the room, it would be a waste of time. The second door was not locked and it swung open silently. Sam looked around quickly. It was clear that someone was there earlier. The dust was disturbed where something had stood. By the marks on the floor it looked like a table. There was nothing else to see in the room. He quietly pulled the door close behind him and moved towards the stairs. This was going to be the tricky part. He had no idea which of the stairs would creek when he stepped on them and there was more than one way to rig stairs with an early warning system or a booby trap. Sam carefully stepped around the stairs, the wooden structure built in such a way that there was a crawl space between the stairs and the back wall. From the underside of the stairs he could see some wire thin lines snaking across and disappearing into the dark - booby-trapped. It was the only way to get out of the basement, he was almost sure of that, but he would make sure before he tried getting past this particular obstacle.

Sam made his way out of the room again and turned the other way to check the rest of the hallway. There were another two rooms on the other side as well. Both of them were empty except for one or two dead pigeons and rat droppings dirtying the floor. He had no choice; the only way up was the stairs.

Back in the room Sam checked out the stairs again and then grinned. He had a way up and even though as a child he loved to get up the stairs this way, he just hoped that he wouldn't get any splinters imbedded in his cock.

Sam made sure his Taurus was tucked in neatly at his back, his hunting knife strapped down to his thigh and then he pulled himself up on the side of the rail and then ever so slowly started to shimmy his way up the rail to the top. He could feel the splinters biting into his hands and knew he had to make sure to clean them up as soon as possible and to make sure they were not bleeding and leaving a trail for Dean to find him. The difficult part came at the top. Sam crossed his legs over the rail and then pushed himself up further so that he was able to reach the door handle. He could see no trip wire connected with the door so he sat up straight and shimmied forward until he was against the top railing. He used his upper body strength and swung himself to the top step, landing softly before opening the door. He was in yet another hall, when he counted the floors from the outside it looked like there were five levels, he knew Dean would be on the top one - the best way to escape from any building was to go through the roof.

It took Sam another hour before he reached the landing of the fifth floor. He was soaked in sweat. He nearly managed to trigger six traps. He was lucky so far; his level of skill only helped so much. He was about to go right when he heard a muffled scream coming from his left. It was filled with pain and although Sam didn't want anyone to suffer any longer at the hands of his brother the pain filled scream left him with hope. He still had time to get Dean to release his latest victim and offer himself up - for always.


	4. Blade Master: Chapter 3

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**Chapter 3**

Dean stilled his actions and cocked his head. He could've sworn he heard a noise. He was used to the old building and the odd sounds that emanated from it, but this was different. This was a human-made noise. He looked down at the man stretched out on the table and shrugged his shoulders. It was time for a break anyway. He hated to work on his art if his _audience_ was not awake to appreciate it.

He placed the carving knife on the tray and reached for the rag to clean his hands. His movements were slow and sure. After he made sure his hands were clean of blood he took his Glock and moved towards the back of the room where he heard the sound coming from. His eyes moved around and he looked for anything out of place, his ears strained to pick up any other sounds as he made his way across the room. He would start his search down one flight. He was sure that there was nothing in the basement. He had too many tripwires down there for anyone to get passed those. Although if someone did make it passed it means that he was slacking and it meant punishment for himself later.

At the staircase Dean first undid the tripwire before he made his way down. He was certain that there was no one on the floor he came from and he would make sure that no one passed by him. He held the weapon steady in his hands, his tongue lapping at this bottom lip, slicking it up slightly - the only sign of nervousness. He reached for the first door, leaning against it with his head to catch any sounds from the inside. Upon hearing nothing he slowly opened the door, stepping away from the widening gap, his firearm raised in the perfect shooting position. Carefully he stepped inside, looking behind the door, covering the whole room before stepping out again. He repeated this procedure for the two other rooms on this side of the hall as well; each one was clear and silent.

As soon as he opened the last door he knew someone had been there. Even without the pair of shoes and the neatly folded socks in the middle of the room he would've known. He stared at the shoes and socks for a long time. He was aware of the fact that his own breathing was increased, his heart rate above the slow rhythm it always held. If it weren’t for the fact that his Master was dead he would've suspected that it was him. Now he didn't know who it could be, but it made the predator in him wake up snarling.

He left the shoes and shocks where he found them and grinned. He loved hunting and whoever was here just signed their own death warrant. No one came into his domain and fucked with him - no one.

Dean made it to the ground floor of the dilapidated building. He looked calm and collected - like a snake ready to strike. On the inside he was boiling. He wanted nothing more than to find the person who was hiding from him and rip him apart. He wouldn't waste a bullet on him - that would be too merciful. He would rip him apart limb for limb with his bare hands. His body shook as he thought about what else he'd discovered so far. He'd found a neatly folded leather belt with a faded pair of jeans in one of the rooms on the fourth floor. On the stairway between the second and third floor he'd found a folded button up shirt and t-shirt. He'd also discovered a set of keys, dog tags and a wrist watch on the first floor. Underneath was an article on him - his first kill.

He frowned as he reached the so-called front door of the building and found another "gift". It consisted of an assortment of weapons. He counted at least three knives, including a rather spectacular curved blade knife. There was also a Taurus and two full clips. And something else. A piece of paper with one word written on it - _Master_.

Dean lowered himself to his knees and breathed deeply. He wanted to think that he was being played with, but it didn't have that taunting feel to it. He himself was a master at taunting his victims and this didn't feel like it. He had no idea what it could be, but then he remembered something and he cursed himself for being so fucking stupid. This time he didn't keep his footfall soft but raced up each flight of stairs to where he'd left his latest piece of work. He had been played, he'd been fooled; whoever was here in the building was where he started off, right under his nose. He only checked the side of the room where the noise came from, never the rest of the room - a rookie mistake; one that would see him punishing himself hard in the days to come.

He stormed into the room, his eyes fixed on the table where he left his last victim. The man was right there where he left him, blood still seeping out of some of the cuts on his body and the sight made him relax. He turned his head and his eyes found the figure in the middle of the room.

"What do you want?" His own voice sounded gruff to his ears. Dean held his weapon steady as he stepped into the room. He didn't bother in sweeping the area; he knew this kneeling man was alone. "What do you want?" Dean stepped closer, but made sure he stayed out of reach. His eyes traveled over the man's body. He was tall, at least a few inches taller than Dean himself. His skin was a golden brown; even his thighs and his lower back seemed to have the same deep color. The man's head was respectively bowed, his long bangs covering part of his face. His hands were at his back and Dean frowned as he saw that there were leather-bound cuffs around his wrists. He took a step closer and couldn't help but to notice that the man's feet were shackled together too.

Nothing made sense. Dean was certain that this man was alone, but there he was in the middle of the room, hands and wrists bound together. The man's breathing was deep and even and Dean knew without a doubt that he was in deep sub space. Dean put his weapon away and stepped behind the kneeling man. He picked up one of his knives and was planning on slitting his throat as he knelt down. But the tattoo on the man's nape made him stop in his tracks. It was his signature mark and although it was a brilliant copy of it, he knew he didn't draw it himself, next to the knowledge none of the bearers of his tattoo were still breathing.

Dean took hold of the man's head and yanked his head back hard. He had a second to gaze into hazel brown eyes before they were lowered again, not looking at him. "What do you want?" Dean asked for the third time. He couldn't believe that the man was still breathing, he should've slit his throat already, but he was shocked to say the least and wanted answers before sending this man to hell.

"To serve you, Sir." The voice was soft spoken, but laced with strength. With his head arched back Dean made out another tattoo on his chest, it looked like one or other symbol and Dean knew he should know the meaning behind it, but once again his mind was blank.

Dean growled and yanked the man to his feet. He pushed him hard against the wall and pressed his knife deeper into the soft flesh of his neck. "Don't play with me, what the fuck do you want?" He hissed and watched a trail of blood sneaking down the side of the man's neck as his blade draw first blood with satisfaction.

The man whimpered, but didn't try to move away from the blade. His breathing was no longer deep or even, but Dean could still sense calmness around him. In a way it made him calm as well. "I will not hesitate to slit your throat right now if you don't tell me what you want."

The man swallowed. "I want to serve you, Sir."

"Wrong answer," Dean growled and let the knife slide across the skin, slicing through it in one smooth motion. He'd kept the grip on the knife light, only letting the blade pierce the outer layer of the skin. He knew it would burn like hell and was truly surprised when the man didn't try to arch away but just whimpered softly.

"Tell me, what do you want, what are you doing here?"

"I want to serve you. I want to be in your service."

Dean tilted his head. "In exchange for what?"

The man remained quiet again as though he was picking his words carefully. "Let him go."

Dean snorted. "Let him go? He's mine. I don't have to let him go. And since you've offered yourself up so splendidly for me, I now seem to have two play things." He grinned. He raised an eyebrow when the man beneath his hand shook his head. "Please, let him go. He doesn't belong here."

Dean growled. "Who the fuck do you think you are to say he doesn't belong here! He's mine, **mine**!" He turned them both and shoved the man hard against the wall and at the same time jammed the blade deep into his shoulder, loving the way the blood pooled around the blade before it streamed down in one red river.

The man screamed, his voice filled with pain and Dean twisted the blade. His cock was straining against his jeans as the warm blood spilled over his hand. He twisted the knife again and was about to rip it out to slit the man's throat when he spoke up. "Dean, please." For the first time since Dean came into the room, he looked him straight in the eyes before he closed his eyes slowly and sank boneless to the floor.

Dean acted out of instinct and grabbed hold of him before he could land face first onto the floor. There was something in his eyes, the way the man said his name that made Dean hesitate for a second before he lowered him to the floor, already grabbing something to press over the still bleeding wound. He had no idea what happened, but it was as if everything in him screamed at him to protect this young man, to keep him safe.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam shivered as Dean stood in front of him and addressed him, demanding to know what he'd wanted. It felt strange to be in the same room as his brother but not to leap forward and grab him tight to hug him until everything else faded into nothingness. Instead he closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing and hated the fact that he still could hear the man's screams in his ears...

_He'd really thought he'd have enough time to get the guy out, but by the sound of things it seemed like time was about to run out and he had to change his plans. He looked down at himself and swallowed hard. It was time. He turned around and started to trace his steps back down into the heart of the building._

_It felt natural to him to start shedding his clothes and his armor. He had to make Dean see that he held no threat; that he came to him as one willing to serve. His breath had caught in his throat as he placed his dad's dog tags on the ground. He hated to part with them, but it was a necessity. He felt totally calm as he stood naked before the door of Dean's room again. He hoped his last trick would work, he needed some time to set it up. He held his breath as Dean stopped carving into the man and made his way over to where he thought he'd heard the noise. The moment Dean stepped out of the room, Sam's heart rate picked up and he had to mentally calm himself. He wasted no time. He only made sure that the man was still breathing before he took the manacles he saw on the side of the room and tied himself up. It was a difficult task to do on his own, but he managed. After that, he started to center himself, looking for the right headspace and just concentrated on his breathing. He was ready._

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Dean's voice sounded like music to his ears. His brother repeated his question over and over and Sam only gave him the answer he himself needed to hear coming from his own mouth. He couldn't explain it now; he needed time. He needed to make Dean let the man go and then he could explain everything. He was however not prepared for the knife that got plunged into his shoulder. He could feel the skin and flesh rip apart as the knife pressed deeper inside of him just before the muscles got twisted around the blade as Dean turned it. He heard himself scream and even as darkness descended over him, he could only think of one thing - Dean.

Dean paced up and down. He wanted to stab himself with the knife when he found himself once again with his finger in his mouth biting hard at the already bleeding nail. He looked over to where both men were tied up. The man he kidnapped was still spread out on the table, yet to regain consciousness and in a weird way Dean couldn't care less if he did or not. His playtime with the man was over. He had yet to decide if he would stay alive. Dean hoped he'd stopped breathing on his own before he had to make a choice. His attention shifted towards the younger man and he couldn't help but to frown. He still had the urge to protect him with every fiber in his body. Dean had tried to place him, but he kept coming back with nothing - there was a block within himself that he needed to get passed and he had no idea how to do it.

As the young man whimpered and tried to shift in his bondages Dean moved to his side. "I wouldn’t try to move like that if I were you." He placed a bracing hand on the man's arm. "Keep still, it's a deep wound and if you struggle it will start to bleed again." He'd already cleaned the wound and stitched it up, but knew from experience that the sutures wouldn't last if the arm was moved too much.

Pain throbbed through Sam's shoulder and he couldn't help but whimper. From the heat radiating from his own skin he knew he had a fever. For a moment he couldn't understand what was going on, but then he heard Dean's voice and the memories of what transpired rushed back. He opened his eyes and looked in Dean's green orbs for one second before he lowered his gaze again and made a conscious effort to keep his body still.

"Who are you?" Dean asked again.

Sam knew Dean wasn't ready for the truth. "Someone to serve you, Sir." His voice was edged with pain.

Dean dragged his blood stained hands through his short-cropped hair. It was as if this man had the ability to crawl deep under his skin and make him forgot all that he learned about being patient. Penance was going to be hard on him this time around.

"Why do you want me to let go what's mine?"

Sam kept his gaze lowered before he answered. "Because he doesn't belong to you," Sam took a deep breath before he finished his sentence, "Sir."

Dean frowned as the young man once again addressed him with so much of respect. At the same time he could feel the anger boiling up inside of him. "He's mine." He hissed the words out and at the same time he pressed hard on the dressed wound making Sam scream in pain and bringing his own cock to life.

Sam tried to squirm away from the pain that sliced through him, but the ropes and shackles held him tight. Tears streamed down his face and the edge of consciousness wanted to fade away, but then the pressure released and he gasped for air. "Please," he sobbed.

"Please, what? You break into my domain, you invade my privacy, you display yourself to me like a cheap whore and then you make demands! You've got no right to say please - none." Dean pressed into the wound again and even as the man screamed again and again he didn't release the pressure. The voice inside of him that called out, demanded from him to protect what was in front of his eyes, he ignored. He only released his hold when the man slumped back onto the table; blood stained the bandages around the wound. Dean stepped back, dragged his hands through his hair and tiredly wiped his hand against his jean. "FUCK!" He made sure that both of his _guests_ bindings were tight and then he walked out of the room. It was time he got focused again. He had his own punishment to hand out and some thinking to do about this whole situation.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Dean hissed and then quieted down as he flicked his wrist again and felt the blow of the flogger hit him hard over his already red and burning shoulder. He was doing penance and this was the twentieth stroke - still another twenty to go. He could feel the blood dripping down his shoulder blades but it didn't matter, he fucked up and he must be punished - he must get his head back in the game. He was not to speak to his victims as if they were his equals. He was not to let his emotions cloud his judgment. He was the best and he had to act like it. He groaned as the knots on the end of the tails got stuck in the open wound and it ripped him open again. He felt dizzy and knew he had to finish this before he keeled over. He had served his penance and it was time to get back to the real world.

He got to his feet and hissed again as his back strained with the cuts that decorated his back. He hoped he hadn't cut his back too bad; there was no one who could stitch him up if he needed it. He might be good, but even his own arm couldn't reach there. He quickly made it over to the shower and leaned forward on his arms as the warm water spilled down his back. He could see the red river flow between his feet and disappear down the drain. He stayed in position until the water run clear before he picked up the cloth and started to wash himself briskly. His head was clear, he paid for his sins and it was time to get back into the game. He needed answers before he could reach a decision.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam struggled weakly against the ropes that tied him down. It wasn't as if he wanted to get lose, but the bindings were tight and it was cutting of the blood flow to his hands and feet. He turned his head and looked at the man that lay next to him. By the way the man was breathing he could see his time was running out. He wondered if Dean would mark him as one of his or if he would just dump him somewhere and not make a claim on him. Sam couldn't believe his own thoughts, but he already accepted the fact that he was too late. He wouldn't be surprised if the man died even before the first rays of sun of the next day. He had failed in one way, but he was with Dean and he would not fail in that. Not if he wanted to keep Dean alive. He would not fail again. Tiredly he closed his eyes and felt the darkness pulling him under. He wondered where Dean was and hoped that he would see his brother again - soon.

Dean looked on at the unconscious man before him. He lifted his hand and brushed the long bangs out of his eyes. He frowned when he felt how hot the man was. It was clear he was running a fever. Dean took hold of the bandage that covered the wound and pulled it away from the skin. It was red and puffed. He wasn't surprised; he would've been more surprised if there was no infection at all. He stood up and went to gather his first aid kit. The voice inside of him that screamed to take care of this young man and to keep him safe was so hard in his ears that he could do nothing but follow the order as if his own Master had commanded it from him.

He cleaned the wound quickly and then wrapped a clean bandage over it again. He took out some Tylenol and crushed it before mixing it with water. He lifted the young man's head and tipped the glass with milky water to his lips, stroking his throat to get his reflex to work and held the glass steady as he made sure the unconscious man drank every last drop. Seeing how the man shivered he gathered him up to his chest and shared his own body heat with him. He had no idea why he was doing it, but he also could not bring himself to stop.

Only once did his eyes leave the man wrapped in his embrace. It was the moment his victim died. Dean had heard him blow out his final breath and saw how the last of his strength left his body as he went totally limp. He'd never regained consciousness after Dean started to gut his flesh away from his sides to uncover the muscle and bone underneath.

Dean sighed and then shrugged. It was clear from the beginning that the man wouldn't have lasted long. He was just too weak. Dean groaned as his mind travelled to the past. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. He was well aware of the fact that the present was intertwined with the past and the future was shaped as a result of that. He still had a lot to do before his time was up. It amazed him that the link between all of his victims was yet to be discovered, but on the other hand, who was left to figure it out?

Feeling that the man no longer shivered in his embrace he placed him back on the table once again. This time he took more care with his bindings not knowing how long he would be away and not wanting him to be able to escape or injure himself while he was not here.

Dean walked over to the dead body and unshackled it, letting the shackles and manacles fall to the floor. He lifted the corpse clear from the table and placed it on a tarp that was set in the corner and then dragged it over to the middle of the floor to where a drain was. He had to wash away the trace evidence before he could dump the man somewhere. He would not mark this one as one of his, this was just a bit of fun on the side.

Dean stripped the last pieces of cloth from the body and then turned on the hose as he started at the head and worked his way down. Blood and lose pieces of flesh washed off the body and into the drain. He worked meticulously, turning the body over and making sure that the back was also washed clean, making sure that no DNA of himself was left behind. Only after he was satisfied that the body was clean did he move it to another tarp before he rolled it up and tucked the corners in so it didn't fall apart. He took a quick look at the living man shackled to the second table and then heaved the dead body over his shoulder and made his way down the stairs. He still had a lot to do and he had to do it quickly.


	5. Blade Master: Chapter 4

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**Chapter 4**

"What the fuck do you mean you've lost him?" Victor Henriksen growled over the phone. He paced the room and wished he had something to throw against the wall. "I want answers and I want them before the hour is up, do I make myself clear?" He didn't wait for the person on the other side to answer but ended the call abruptly.

They had a viable lead, a lead that didn't turn into nothingness before the hour ended - or so he thought. He couldn't believe that the bastard managed to lose the tail. He'd placed one of his best men on the job and still it didn't work out.

They were so close in capturing that elusive bastard. They had manage to get a picture of him on a security camera and with the help of the tech guys in the department they managed to find more bits of him at different places, making it clear that this man was the one responsible for all of those deaths. They now had a photo of the monster that they were dealing with.

Victor frowned as he thought about his superior's reaction when he showed him what they had. He thought that his boss would've been more supportive of him, but he looked distracted by what Victor had shown him. He also knew that his boss was going through a tough time at home, so he hoped it was just that. He also hoped to wrap this case up by the end of the week. _'The master of the blade'_ was his.

Victor stepped over to the table and took the top photo from the pile they'd collected over the past week. On each photo the same man was depicted. The man with the barbed wire tattoo across his face, another tattoo visible on the side of his neck. Victor stared hard at the image. It was as if he was looking into the depths of hell. The man's eyes might have been the deepest green he'd ever seen, but there was no warmth in them, just the look of death.

"You're mine," Victor whispered before he pinned the photo to the investigation board, next to the face of the latest victim. Brad Wayford - aged twenty six, single, gay and it seemed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had little hope in finding Wayford alive, they only had an estimated time of when he was taken and even if they worked all through the night for the days to come, Victor knew they would be too late. It was time to do damage control. They had to work productively to save the next victim. Something that bothered all of them, including the profilers, was that as far as they could establish none of the men had anything in common. They'd differed in race, length, age and even sexual preference. He knew they were missing something and that the case would only really come together if the common link was found.

Victor paced in front of the board, he had each and every victim's photo pinned to it. Each man's personal details and background outlined beneath their photos. All of the marks on their bodies, the tattoos on the bottom of their soles photographed and pinned up. On a separate board a total of seven photos depicted one image. An image that Victor saw each and every time he closed his eyes, but an image he knew none of the victims themselves had ever seen - unless they were psychic and hung around after their deaths to see the last tattoo sketched into their skins after they took their last breath. The kneeling angel meant something and Victor had yet to find out what. It was also the only piece of information that the media had no knowledge of. He hoped to keep it that way.

"Henriksen," he barked into his phone after picking up. "You must be fucking joking with me. Bring him up." He nodded even though the other person couldn't see and then ended the call. They had a breakthrough, or so he hoped, he had to talk to the witness first before he could become excited. Someone came in and got a tattoo just like the one on the back of the victims' napes. The only reason why they found this was because the tattoo artist happened to be a snitch to one of their agents and the tattoo was shown to him to find out if he could say who the artist was. Up until last week he had no idea.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Dean made sure that there was no one in the vicinity of the dumping site before he lifted the dead weight from the back of the trunk and dumped it on top of the other garbage. He turned away from the dump and walked over to the truck. He had to dump that as well, together with the clothes he had on, but that was the easy part.

He drove the truck into the worst part of town and left it in the parking lot of a shopping mall. He knew that by nightfall the truck would be stripped clean and from the shell of the truck itself the cops and the feds would find nothing. Dean took out the duffel bag of clean clothes and swung it over his shoulder. He had only one more stop to make before he could return to his current place of residence. He took a taxi to the other side of town and got off at a non-descript motel. He paid for an hour, the clerk at the back of the counter not even looking up once from the skin magazine he was drooling over.

In the room he used the shower and scrubbed himself down twice before he stepped out to dry off. He looked down at his body and let his hand run over his clean-shaven groin area and balls. He was as soft and clean shaven as a little baby boy and knew that they would not find a single body hair of him anywhere near any of the victims. He dressed with care and after he was done he took the bag with the clothes in it and went to a nearby Laundromat. He washed the clothes, folded them up neatly and then went to one of the many Salvation Army drop points and dropped the clothes off for those people in need. He kept nothing he had on from when he used his blades on Brad. There was no evidence left that could link him to the death of his latest victim and he didn't claim him as one, but he would be one, especially to those who it mattered to the most.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
"We've got a problem," deputy director Steven Groves said into the phone as looked out on the parking lot and saw his top agent walk towards his car. "Henriksen is getting closer." He looked on as the agent got into his car and then drove off. "What if he figures it out?" He listened and then nodded his head. "Understood." He sighed as he ended the call. It would be a tragic set of circumstances if Agent Henriksen died in the line of duty, but sometimes sacrifices like that were necessary. They just had to make sure that _'The Master of the blade'_ got killed first, they couldn't afford any more lose ends and they also had to save their own necks.

He still couldn't believe that a highly classified operation could turn out so badly. It was all supposed to be figured out, but they didn't reckon their own operative into the picture. He was still a young agent himself when John Winchester was first spotted. The powers that be wanted to recruit him, but it was decided that he was too set in his ways and they decided to wait. It soon became apparent that Dean would be the perfect soldier. Once that was realized and cleared with the powers that be, Dean was kidnapped. They made sure his little brother couldn't identify them and Dean's training had started. It was a pleasure to see how Dean thrived in his training once he was brainwashed enough to believe that he no longer had a family. He became their perfect assassin, even if most of them didn't agree with the methods used to train him - including the tattoos.

Dean was the perfect soldier as they predicted and everything went according to plan until the day it didn't. Until the day Dean's Master - as the younger man referred to him - had to be eliminated. Dean lost it and disappeared for about two months. When he returned on the scene he started taking out the people that were now his victims. It was not public knowledge, or even FBI knowledge, but all of the victims had one thing in common and Dean Winchester was slowly but surely taking his revenge on all of the men involved in his training - in the reshaping of his life from the son of a man that hunted the supernatural to the master killer he was today.

Steven tugged on his tie. He had no sons and his sister had only daughters. He was the unlucky one. All the other victims were male relatives to the agents involved in the initial operation. He had a feeling that when Dean called his number up, he would be the one carved to pieces. He would do anything in his power to make sure that didn't happen.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Henriksen dragged his hand over his face again and leaned back in his chair. There was something that he was missing, something that was so simple that he missed it. He knew it was there, but he couldn't place his finger on it. He'd even tried to read all of the case notes in the reversed order but that just gave him a headache and it didn't bring him any closer to the solution.

He picked up the photos of the security cameras again and stared into those green orbs, he looked long and then shook his head. This young man could've become anything in the world, but he turned out to become the worst serial killer in mankind's history. He wonders if it was a childhood dream to become such a rotten apple or what went wrong. He shrugged his shoulders, none of that really mattered. The only thing that mattered was to find this monster and stop his reign of terror as soon as humanly possible.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Dean looked at the man strapped to the table. He'd returned to this warehouse almost an hour ago and was surprised to see his willing sacrifice still out for the count. He tended to his shoulder wound again and then removed the shackles and manacles he used to bind him before and tied him up with soft leather wrist and ankle cuffs.

After he made sure that the young man was resting peacefully he retreated to the room he loved to call his headspace room. This was the place he planned the meets, executed his charm and got his revenge. He knew he was taking his revenge out on the innocent, but they really were not - they were the products of those who were evil in life. Their uncles or cousins or grandfathers took away his innocence - changed him into what he was. It would've been too easy to let them suffer, it was just so more interesting and challenging to take their loved ones.

He stood in front of his wall and looked at the faces that stared back at him. Those who already received a call from him were crossed out - their fate would be sealed soon, he first had to get the one remaining victim done and then he could count the bullets out to end the battle once and for all. But then there was the fact that he had no idea what role the tied up young man played in all of this. He just knew that even though he wanted to slit his throat, he also wanted to keep him safe. It was a tight line to walk, but until he had more answers he would keep him safe and alive.


	6. Blade Master: Chapter 5

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap5.jpg)

  


**Chapter 5**

Dean caught his reflection in the window as he waited patiently for the strange young man to wake up. He traced the barbed wire tattoo with his finger and couldn't help but to grin over it. He was glad they lived in a society that accepted tattoos as something normal. In fact, tattoos were such an everyday occurrence that only a few people took a second look at him.

Barbed wire tattoos were seen as something bad, being a criminal - having served sentence - life imprisonment for murder. He'd never been in a jail before, but he had served his sentence - he was still serving it. His own Master tattooed him the day after he made his first successful kill. He could still feel the needle piercing his skin over and over, the machine's noise faded in the background as he concentrated on the feeling. It was done freehand, no stencil used before the ink was etched into his skin permanently. The tattoo also served another purpose. It showed him that he would never be free, that he was condemned to this life, without really having a choice or say in the matter.

The phoenix tattoo on the side of his neck spoke of rebirth. Of being able to stand up and go forth when moments ago you were down on your knees and out for the count. That tattoo he chose himself, after his Master died - after he found out the truth that set him on this road. He knew how his life would end. He knew that he would either end it himself or it would be ended for him. He was at peace with either choice. Death would in any case only come to meet him after he completed the tasks he set out for himself, not one moment before. Of that Dean was certain.

His attention got drawn away from his reflection as the man on the table groaned. Dean stood up silently and stepped up to the table. He still had the urge inside of him to keep this man safe, to make sure he didn't get hurt, but he shoved it aside ruthlessly. He would only give into that feeling when he got clarity on things, until then this man was an unknown threat, someone to treat with caution.

Dean spoke up as the man's eyes flickered open. He looked confused for a few seconds, until his gaze met Dean's and then he lowered his eyes slightly. "How do you feel?"

The man swallowed before he answered. "Hot, cold, sore." His voice was gruff.

Dean nodded his head, but didn't reply. Instead he walked around the table and tested the bindings. He made sure he wasn't gentle and he was surprised when the man only groaned as he tightened the strap that held his injured arm to the table. "Are you going to answer my questions?"

The man looked around and Dean saw his eyes linger on the empty table beside him. He saw the way the man's breath hitched and was surprised when the hazel orbs met his gaze again, but again for only a second. He didn't need to explain; he could see that the man knew that his victim didn't survive. He thought that the man would start to scream and to buck against his restraints, but was again surprised when he only sighed deeply and lowered his eyes again. He could feel the silence stretch between them and then the man nodded his head once.

"Who are you?" Dean asked the question again. He didn't know why, but he needed to know the answer, just like he needed to take his next breath of air.

"Someone to serve you, Sir."

Dean sighed dramatically and then jammed his finger into the bandage that covered the stab wound. "Stop playing games with me! I will not hesitate to strip the skin from your flesh, to hogtie you and fuck you into oblivion if you don't give me the answers that I'm looking for!"

The man screamed and even tried to move away from the pressure but only succeeded in jarring his  
shoulder more, leaving him breathless and in pain, his vision threatened to hand him over to the dark abyss.

"I asked you a simple question, and I expect a simple answer," Dean spoke softly as the man's screams died down. "So, I'll ask you again, who are you?"

The man sobbed, all the color drained from his face. His eyes filled with pain, but his voice clear as he answered. "Sam, my name is Sam."

"Now, that wasn't so difficult was it?" Dean turned away. He couldn't help but feel his own chest tighten as Sam said his name, but he didn’t know why. He had to clear his mind, he couldn't be distracted now. He walked over to where his knives were on display. He had amble opportunity to clean them after he returned from dumping the body. They gleamed in the light and he lovingly stroked the blades. He picked up one of the scalpels and played with it between his fingers, before he turned back to face Sam.

"I'll start with the simple questions first. If I'm not satisfied with your answers I'll use this on you to cause you pain. The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner I'll put you out of your misery. Because there's one thing you need to understand, one thing that you need to come to expect. You will not walk out of here alive. You've forfeited your life to me the moment you stepped into my domain." Dean placed the knife on Sam's chest and slowly dragged the blade downwards, the red stream quickly following in the blade's wake.

"You've got an amazing skin, it's cared for, but not perfect. He traced the scars on Sam's torso with his fingers. "This one is a blade injury in itself." He took the knife and cut into the old scar, moving slowly to trace the scar in exactly the same manner. He blocked out the sounds Sam made beneath his hands, but was impressed by the fact that the younger man kept perfectly still.

"You said you wanted to serve me, you don't even know me. Why do you want to serve me? What would you do for me that I can't do for myself?" Dean kept on tracing old scars with his fingers, cutting into those that were caused by blades, but he kept his strokes light, just nicked the skin to draw out the blood, nothing more.

Sam whimpered again and groaned as the blade cut into a scar that was still pink and not properly healed. He had to bite hard on his teeth not to scream out in pain as his memories threatened to consume him in the way he sustained that cut.

"I asked you a question, Angel." Dean smiled. He had no idea why he called Sam Angel, but the name flowed from his tongue and he liked it.

Sam struggled with the answer. He knew the correct one, but how do you put it to your long lost brother that what he was doing was wrong and so totally fucked up that no psychiatrist or any amount of therapy in the world would ever put him right back again and that the only solution you got for this problem was to give yourself up to the one person in your life who you cared for more than yourself and would happily be gutted and stitched and gutted over and over if it meant keeping him out of the hands of the authorities. Until he earned Dean's trust, until Dean knew him better there was just no way he could tell Dean the truth. He just hoped he had enough time to gain the trust he needed to come clean. In the meantime he just had to do his damn best to supply Dean with answers that would satisfy him.

"I want to be your canvas, I want to be there for you when you need to practice your strokes with the blades. I want to be able to tell you how it burns, how the feeling changes from being scratched on the surface to where your blade meets flesh, meets muscle." Sam was out of breath as he rambled everything out.

Dean arched his brow and nipped hard on his own bottom lip. The answer was perfect, one well rehearsed, but clearly not the truth. "Mm, I like the sound of that. Let's pretend for one moment I believe you and move on." He pressed the blade into one of the already bleeding scars and this time his hold on the blade changed as did his angle. He cut deep and looked on as the flesh parted underneath his hand like melted butter.

Sam screamed. His whole body shivered in shock, his breathing shallow and rushed. He couldn't keep back the words that escaped from his mouth. "Please, please, stop, please."

"Stop? Why must I stop? Did you not just one moment ago say that you wanted to be my canvas? How can you fulfill that duty if you're already begging me to stop?" Dean pulled the blade away and looked at the gaping wound. It would need stitches. Something that he would tend to later on. He stepped around the table again and stopped when he stood behind Sam's head. He pulled hard on the long bangs until the younger man's throat was bared. "You will not lie to me again." He slid the blade over the exposed skin, leaving droplets of blood behind and then he grabbed Sam's head between his hands and slammed it hard down onto the table. The impact was hard enough and it was satisfying to see Sam go limp. He was not scared about brain damaged, he'd done this on his victims numerous times and knew by now just how to do it right to render the person unconscious. After all, it was part of his training.

Dean returned the knife to a tray with hot water and then walked over to where the first aid kit was stacked against the wall. He gathered what he needed and quickly set to work and stitched up the wounds. He found himself humming under his breath and frowned when he realized it was _Enter Sandman_. He shook his head at himself and then made a conscious effort not to hum it again, instead he concentrated on the man on the table, _Sam_. He would break him, but he would do it slowly and he would love each and every moment of it. He tied off the last stitch and then cleaned his hands. He looked down at Sam before he gently brushed the long bangs out of his eyes. His breath hitched as a memory flashed before his eyes, but it was gone before he could make sense of it. He looked at Sam and then turned around. It was time to approach his next victim - the last one. He had work to do.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Dean pushed himself away from his latest ride and walked purposely towards the young man that had his hands full of bags and was struggling to balance two cups of something hot at the same time. "Here, let me help you." Dean took the holder with cups from the man's hand, not waiting for an acceptance of his offer. He smiled as the man looked up at him with relief in his eyes.

"Thanks," he blushed.

Dean grinned. "My pleasure." He stood still as the man made no move to walk on.

"Oh, sorry. This way." He blushed again before he indicated with his head to the left side of the parking lot.

Dean smiled softly and then fell into step next to him. He remained quiet and smiled again as they reached the SUV and the man placed the grocery bags on the ground before he proceeded to open the vehicle.

"Thank you again. My boss would've killed me if I spilled his coffee."

Dean nodded his head. "It's always a sin to spill coffee."

The man groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not another one." He smiled at the end of the sentence. "And here I thought you'd be different."

Dean laughed and even managed to blush himself. "Sorry, I've got one weakness in life and that's coffee. So spilled coffee is really the greatest sin off all."

The man looked down at his feet. "Well, I've got to get this over to the office but then I'm free. Can I buy you a cup to say thank you?"

Dean looked around and then shrugged his shoulders. "It's really not necessary."

"Please, let me. If I spilled that coffee it would've put me back at least another twenty minutes, so I'm very grateful. It's just to say thank you. We can even make it takeaway if it would suit you better." He placed a hand on Dean's arm.

"With an offer like that, who can resist." Dean looked at the guy standing in front of him and then nodded his head. "Sure, why not."

"Great. Can I meet you here again in say forty-five minutes? I know this great coffee shop around the corner, I have a feeling you'll love it."

"Sounds good to me. I've got some errands to run myself, so I'll meet you here." Dean replied.

"Can't wait." The guy extended his hand, "my name is Daniel, by the way."

"Daniel - nice strong name. Mine's Dean." Dean took the offered hand and shook it politely. He loved the way Daniel's hand fitted into his own.

Daniel blushed at Dean's complement ,but didn't reply. Instead he grinned again and then loaded up the bags quickly. The sooner he delivered the groceries and the coffee the sooner he could get back here and get to know Dean better.

Dean stood and watched as Daniel pulled away. The first stage of this meet went perfectly. He would make this upcoming meeting worthwhile to Daniel and then he would slowly lure him into his web. But first he had some other business to take care of. His angel, Sam, was waiting for him.


	7. Blade Master: Chapter 6

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap6.jpg)

  


**Chapter 6**

**5 Days Later**  
Sam became aware of the throbbing pain in his shoulder and whimpered as the other aches also started to make themselves known. He'd lost track of time as he hovered between consciousness and being surrounded by darkness. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry that he couldn't even manage to do that one simple action. He turned his head and his gaze found Dean standing at the window as he looked out at the darkened city before him. Sam frowned, the last time he was awake the sun was still shining brightly. He couldn't believe he'd lost so much time.

"You're awake." The statement was made without Dean turning around and Sam could feel himself shiver. Dean's voice had an edge to it that made him feel scared, even though he had promised himself he'd never be afraid of his brother. He also remained quiet; it was a lesson he learned quickly.

He lowered his gaze as Dean turned around, making sure that his eyes never went above Dean's waist. It seemed to please Dean and it left himself with a sense of calmness. He tried to swallow again and this time it was a bit easier. He was grateful when Dean lifted his head and pressed the bottle of water against his lips. He took small sips and made sure he didn't groan as Dean took the water away all too soon. "Thank you."

Dean nodded his head, but didn't reply. He walked over to where the knives were and picked up one of the blades he hadn't use. It was one of Sam's own knives. A curved blade, the balance felt strange in his hand but even with the unfamiliarity he could feel the balance was perfect.

"For how long did this blade belong to you, Angel?"

"Five years, Sir." Sam's voice was gruff from the lack of use, but he answered immediately and strong.

"Did you ever kill with it?"

"Yes, Sir." He prayed that Dean wouldn't ask what, but he also knew his prayers never got answered.

"Who did you kill?"

"Not a who, Sir, a what." Sam responded softly. They've been down this road a few times these past days. It was clear that Dean didn't believe him, the punishment handed out to him a testimony to that.

Dean snorted. "Another one of your wild, tales, Angel? Let me guess, you used this on Bigfoot."  
Sam shook his head, but remained silent.

"Okay, I give in. On what did you use this?" Dean turned the blade around and around. He had many knives himself, but to see such a magnificent blade was a treat, especially if the blade was made out of silver.

"Werewolf, Sir. I cut its heart out." Sam used the least number of words possible.

"Bullshit! Why do you keep on telling me these **lies**?" Dean was livid. He stepped up to the table and yanked Sam's head back again. He was glad to see the pain in Sam's face and he could smell the fear radiating from Sam's skin.

Sam licked his lips and then went out on a limb. "You told me, Sir, that you'd kill me if you caught me in a lie. I've lost track of time, but I know days have gone by and I'm still alive. That means that a part of you must believe me, or were you just toying with me, Sir?"

Dean growled out of frustration. He knew what Sam said was the truth. Some part of him did want to believe him. It would make the small quirks he had himself more believable. He'd always believed that salt kept out spirits. It was one thing that couldn't be trained out of him. In fact it was used as a punishment against him if he failed a task. The salt ring he laid across the windowsills would be taken away for days, making him beg for forgiveness and making him work harder to correct his own mistakes just so that his salt could be given back to him.

"You're alive because that's what I want and for no other reason." He let go of Sam's head and started to loosen the restraints. He could see the angry red marks that covered Sam's wrists and ankles and knew he had to take a look at them again. By the flush on Sam's face he also knew that Sam's fever that had been ravishing his body for the last three days was back. As the last restraint fell to the ground he stepped away. The first time he released Sam from the table the younger man tried to fight him, but he was subdued within seconds and it earned him some extra cuts as punishment. The second time he just lay there until Dean helped him up. He wondered what Sam would do this time.

Sam knew he was too weak to fight, he'd tried that the first time and he was showed his place. He felt safe with Dean and even looked forward in spending time with Dean, even if Dean was handing out punishment because he thought the answers Sam gave were incorrect. He wished he could show Dean that he was telling the truth, but unless Dean would allow him to summon a spirit there was no way he could show Dean. He could also feel himself losing track of reality. He knew it was because of the treatment he received by Dean's hands. The man would wake him up at odd hours, asking him the same questions over and over again, but each and every time receiving the same answers. His body had gotten used to the state of pain it was in. In fact he started to crave the pain if Dean wasn't around. The fact that Dean went out on a regular basis scared him. He knew what it meant, and he hoped that he would be in time to save this victim. He was still filled with grief and guilt that he couldn't save the previous one. He didn't know how many failures he could handle.

Slowly he sat up, the table groaned underneath his weight. Sam closed his eyes for a few seconds as a wave of vertigo assaulted him. When the world stopped spinning he gently got to his feet and gasped. He'd forgotten about the fact that Dean cut his soles. He was surprised to find a warm arm circling his waist when he nearly toppled over. He did the only thing he could think of and slowly sank to his knees and knelt next to Dean's body. If felt natural, just another sign that he was doing the right thing.

"You look good, kneeling like that, Angel." Dean stroked Sam's hair. He looked at the tattoo in Sam's neck and jealousy took over. It was his mark, and no one had the right to place it there. All his victims earned it, Sam hadn't. He yanked hard on Sam's shoulder not giving a damn that it was the injured one. "Stand up, straight," he barked out and pushed Sam away from the table.

Sam hissed in pain as he was pulled to his feet so abruptly but he obeyed the order, even though with difficulty.

"Where did you get that tattoo in your neck?" Dean asked with ice in his voice.

"I saw it on the news." Sam replied and knew he was caught out in a lie the moment Dean moved forward. Even before he could comprehend what was happening he was pinned to the ground, his face pressed hard into the hard wooden floor.

"You seemed to forgot the lesson not to lie to me." Dean pressed him hard into the floor. "It seems to me like you love me punishing you. You know all that you had to do was to ask for it." He flipped Sam over and then straddled his hips. "You'll pay for this lie and you'll pay dearly, but first I want the truth."

Sam sobbed. He felt the stitches torn open as Dean manhandled him, the streamlets of blood already running down his body. "Please, don't."

"You've got no right to beg. That mark belongs to me, you've got no right to wear it, you've not earned it!" He knew he was shouting and was grateful for the fact that this building remained uninhibited. He didn't give Sam any respite, but pulled him to his feet and started to drag him across the floor to the far side of the room where a set of chains hung from the beams. He held on to Sam as he shackled him in and then used the pulley to pull Sam up by his arms until only his toes reached the floor. He went back to the table and picked up one of the broad knives and started to walk circles around Sam. "I’ve had enough of your lies and half truths. You will either tell me the truth or you will die." He stopped at Sam's back and dragged the knife down hard, cutting deep. When Sam started to scream he blocked it out and just kept on cutting.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Daniel looked dreamily at the computer screen in front of him. He'd been waiting on Dean to email him for the past few days and was starting to get worried. They had a wonderful coffee date, and yes, it was a date. The way Dean flirted with him and the way he flirted back made it a date. He couldn't believe how interested Dean was in his life, even if he was just a PA. He asked meaningful questions, sighed in the right places when Daniel explained just how anal his boss could be about some things. Dean had no qualms in finding out precisely what he did and when he did it. He couldn't believe Dean was interested in him.

He's dragged out of his daydreams as his boss voice sidled up next to him. "Daydreaming again, Daniel?"

Daniel blushed. "Sorry, Sir." He didn't deny the daydreaming part; it was the truth after all.

His boss shook his head in dismay. "Just make sure it doesn't affect your work." He looked sternly at the young man before he walked away. He had a meeting to attend.

Daniel nodded his head and sighed as he tried to concentrate on his work. He could still feel Dean's lips on his and hoped that if Dean contacted him again he would kiss him again. Hell, he never slept around, but in this instance he was more than willing to spread his legs wide and let Dean fuck him into oblivion. But first he had to get this work done.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Dean wiped the blood off against Sam's thigh and loved the way his skin turned a shade of red as the wet substance stayed behind. He had to admire Sam's strength. He'd not manage to break him yet, but he knew he was close to it. Unfortunately Sam lost consciousness after two hours of play and would not even regain consciousness when Dean poured cold water over his head. He wiped his hands, looked at Sam's bindings to make sure they were still tight and then he moved to his laptop. He had a date to plan.

He opened the laptop and entered his password and then opened up his mails. He grinned when he saw the email from Daniel. Things seemed to be working out perfectly. He opened the mail and read the short message and then sat back and planned his next step. He really liked Daniel and he knew he would have to punish himself for that; he had to remember that Daniel was just a means to an end and that he'd have to kill the young man in the end. It was part of the spoils of war.

Dean responded to the email, keeping his own answer short and arranged to meet Daniel for coffee again. There was still a few details he needed from Daniel and he hoped to get them tonight. Hopefully he'd also get the chance to sink his aching cock into Daniel's tight channel. Dean groaned and pressed the palm of his hand hard against the base of his aching shaft. He had to have patience; nothing good came out of being hasty. He also could take the ache away by just fucking into his Angel that hung so nicely from the beams. But, he wanted Sam awake the first time he sunk into his body - to hear him scream and beg, so that had to wait. Luckily he still had his own hand to he help him out. It would be a good idea not to go to his date with a hard on.

Not wasting any time, Dean lowered his fly and took his cock out of its confinement. He groaned as his fingers traced his cock and he made a lose fist around his shaft and then let his thumb run over the head, smearing the pre-cum over and around the head again and again. He pressed his nail into the tiny slit and hissed as the spark of pain made itself known. He placed pressure on the nerves under the head of his cock and sighed as the pleasure started to build up. His hand found his balls and he ran them through his fingers pulling at them, squeezing them lightly before he returned his attention to his shaft. More pre-cum had formed at the head and he smeared it between his fingers before he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the digits clean. He returned his wet fingers to his shaft and formed a fist again, this time making the grip harder as he started to pump his cock with his hand. He added a twist every now and then and scraped his nail over the tip. Already he could feel the warm feeling spreading through his stomach and his balls tightening up. He groaned hard as the first streaks of the white sticky substance squirted out. His fist pumped hard and he moaned again as his orgasm ripped through his body. Fucked, he loved getting himself sticky like this. Dean smeared the semen all over his shaft until his cock was over-sensitive and hanging flaccid in his hand. He smiled - it was all that he needed. He looked down at himself and decided he needed a shower. He got up from the chair, walked over to Sam and used the young man's body to wipe his hand and to get rid of the last of his spunk and then took a short shower. When he returned he lowered Sam to the floor and dragged him over to the table securing him there once more. He made sure the salt lines were in place, and for a moment thought of Sam's explanation of the monsters out there before he locked the place up tightly and then left. It was time for more fun.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam groaned and rolled his head from side to side. He could feel the wounds all over his body burning in agony. He tried to listen for Dean, but couldn't hear any sound and he slowly opened his eyes. He was back on the table, strapped down with heavy shackles and manacles. He was so tired and for the first time since he started to look for Dean he wished he never had. But, he also made a promise to him, to his dad that he would find Dean and he had. He knew there was no way that he'd ever be able to make Dean whole again, but he hoped and he dreamed that his solution would work. Sam also knew that Dean would break him. His brother's skill with the knife and his torture methods would make any terrorist proud. It was no wonder that he was contracted by the government to do their dirty work. He had to earn Dean's trust, he had to get Dean to realize that Sam would always be there for him to use in whichever way he wanted to. If he could only find the one thing that would make Dean believe.

Sam turned his head and something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He gasped and felt the tears run down his face. It was right there in front of his own eyes and he was blind to it. He knew how to get through to Dean; he just hoped it would be in time. Sam swallowed hard. He also knew that once Dean believed him that he'd have to come clean and that his relationship with Dean would be changed forever - and there'd be no turning back - ever.


	8. Blade Master: Chapter 7

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap7.jpg)

  


**Chapter 7**

Dean groaned as his cock disappeared into Daniel's mouth. He had a tight hold on Daniel's hair, his hips thrust forward as he fucked hard into the younger man's mouth. "Like that, take me deep, fuck!" He grunted and slammed forward again and at the same time Daniel swallowed and the pleasure ripped through Dean's body, making him shoot into Daniel's throat. Dean loved the sounds the other man made and he continued to ride the waves of bliss as Daniel sucked him down and continued licking him even as his cock went limp. "So fucking good to me, so good." Dean gasped for breath as he came down from the sexual high.

Daniel smiled. He always loved giving head, but doing it with Dean took it to a whole new level. He loved the weight of Dean's cock in his mouth, the way Dean slammed into his mouth made him so fucking hard. His own hand fisted his cock and he smeared his own spunk over the head as he came undone himself the moment Dean started shooting his load down his throat. He looked up into Dean's green orbs and stood up as Dean dragged him up by his arms. "This was unbelievable." His voice was gruff after the pounding he took from Dean's cock, but it felt good.

Dean grinned, but didn't answer; instead he pulled Daniel into his embrace and kissed him softly. "I could do with some sleep." He yawned and then pulled Daniel towards the bed before dragging both of them onto it. He curled around Daniel and drifted to sleep.

Dean awoke forty-five minutes later, refreshed from the nap he took. He felt sticky all over and knew that was because they didn't clean up after the sex. He looked to his side; Daniel was curled in to him, fast asleep. It was time Dean got the next stage of his plan into operation. He slowly moved from the bed, making sure not to wake Daniel up. He moved to the sitting room where he saw Daniel left his laptop. He smiled when he saw it was protected by a password, but he had no difficulties in getting the correct combination. Daniel was just so gullible.

Dean found the information he needed. He quickly downloaded it onto a flash drive and then shut the laptop down again. Only two things left to be done. It would take a few days to organize, and in the mean time he could play with his Angel. He frowned as he thought of Sam; he couldn't help it, but he missed him. It was as if Sam was supposed to be part of his life.

Dean knew it was time to get back to the warehouse. But first he wanted to repay Daniel in kind with a parting blowjob.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Dean sat down at the back of the internet café and logged on to his private account. He quickly checked for messages, although he knew there would be none. Since the death of his Master no one had send him any mail to this address. It was one way of knowing that he was really alone out there. An image of Sam flashed through his head as he thought of himself as being alone. Maybe he should make Sam his slave, he would love to have someone to practice his cuts on and he would love to press himself deep into Sam's hole. He had a feeling it would be one tight fit - just the way he liked it.

Dean shook his head and cleared his mind; he had work to do. He uploaded the information he got off Daniel's laptop and couldn't help but grin as he went through the data. He definitely got what he was looking for. The last man responsible for ruining Dean's life was about to lose his own, and Daniel would be the perfect bait. In less than seventy-two hours everything would be over and he would be at peace.

He created a new email addressed and used a false social security number as his own, knowing that when the feds traced this it would lead them around in circles for days. He quickly started editing some of the information he got from Daniel's laptop and then added some information of his own and placed it in a safe folder for the time being. If it became necessary he would send this to each and every TV network in America. It would bring the government to their knees. It would take years before they would recover from this. It was all for his Master - the one he called dad in days that only saw fear in himself.

As the sky started to turn light, Dean closed the computer and stretched his arms high above his head, it was time to go and play.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam looked on as the sunrays first peeked through the large windows and the last signs of darkness disappeared. He had gotten little sleep after he realized he knew how to get through to Dean finally. He just hoped that with what he could tell Dean and with their dad's dog tags he left for Dean to find, he'd be able to get through to Dean. He was still willing to serve Dean, knowing that Dean would need it for always, and it was a natural thing for him to do. He had no idea if Bobby would see it his way and if he'd ever see Bobby again, but he wanted Dean to know about the man, his surrogate father. He knew that the two men would get along.

Sam turned his head as the heavy door to this floor opened slowly. He left out a silent sigh when he saw that Dean was alone. He was under the impression that Dean would bring his next victim here, so to see his brother alone made him feel hopeful.

He lowered his gaze, not letting his eyes travel further up than Dean's waist as his brother came to stand next to him. "How do you feel?" Dean asked as he started to loosen Sam's bindings.

"I'm all right, Sir. Thank you for asking."

Dean cocked his head. There was something different about Sam, but he couldn't put his finger on it at the moment. "I assume you want to relieve yourself." He didn't wait for a reply, but helped Sam to sit up straight on the table and then helped him down, taking all of Sam's weight on him. He ignored the way Sam's breath hitched as his feet touched the ground, but still took it easy as they walked to the bathroom. He waited for Sam to take care of his business and then reached out to help him back to the table, but stopped as Sam spoke up.

"You use salt to cover all the window sills." His gaze stayed low.

Dean was taken aback. "How do you know it's salt?"

Sam took a deep breath, "Salt is used to keep out spirits. They can't pass through it."

Dean saw red and with one motion he slammed Sam hard against the wall. "Who are you?! Who sent you?!” He slammed Sam back again and again. Not taking notice of Sam's pain or even that the shoulder wound and the other wounds all started to bleed again. "I’ve had enough of you!" Dean spit the words out and got hold of Sam's hair and started to drag him from the bathroom back to where his knives and other toys were laid out.

He grabbed hold of Sam as the younger man fell to the floor and pulled him over to the table, slamming him down on the hard surface before he strapped him in tight. He didn't want Sam to move, not now. He was not going to use his knives on him; he had better plans. It was time he really started looking for answers. Playtime was over.

Sam tried to remain calm as Dean shoved him over and over into the wall. His wounds were all bleeding, the warm blood running down his body. He couldn't even answer Dean's questions, as the older man didn't give him the chance to respond. His feet burned like fire and he felt himself go down as Dean got hold of his hair and just dragged him over to the table. His breath whooshed out of his lungs as Dean slammed him onto the table. He saw the glint in Dean's eyes and for the first time since Sam could remember he prayed for mercy.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Victor ran his hands tiredly over his face. The last lead they had on the guy who went in to get the tattoo done faded into nothingness. It was as if he also disappeared into thin air. He turned his head when he heard the knock on the door and smiled as the deputy director's personal assistant appeared in the door.

"Moring, Agent Henriksen." He greeted with a smile. "Deputy Director Groves would like a word with you. He also gave me this to hand over to you."

Victor took the folder and placed it on his desk. He saw the young man looked in the direction of the evidence board and was glad that he covered it up with a sheet. He hated to expose his fellow colleagues and other members of the department to such scenes of violence. "Thank you, I'll be there shortly."

He saw the young man turn around to leave and then he spoke up again. "I hear you're in love?" He grinned. He liked the young man. He knew Groves normally gave him a hard time over everything. "Just be careful out there, Daniel. It's not a nice place we live in."

"I will, thank you Agent Henriksen." Daniel blushed red as he walked to the door. He was in love and it was a good feeling.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
"No more, please, stop, no more." Sam whimpered, tears and snot streaked his face as yet another hard blow left an angry red welt on his back. He'd lost count of how many strokes he already received with the cane. His skin was broken in more then one place, the cane making a splashing sound as it landed on a bleeding area. Sam wished he could lose consciousness, but Dean had the ability to hand out pain in such dosages that the blackness that surrounded his vision never got the opportunity to sweep him away.

"I'll say when we stop, when you’ve had enough. You belong to me, or are you forgetting that, Sammy?" Dean frowned. The word _Sammy_ felt so oddly familiar on his tongue, but he shook his head and concentrated on the task at hand. "I think another ten strokes will be enough for now. Then we can move onto something even better. Or, you could start talking and I could end this here and now." Dean growled again before he brought the cane back down again and again.  
Sam screamed. His wrists were bleeding badly as he tried to wriggle away from the cuts the cane left on his back. "Deanie, please."

_'Deanie'_ , he heard that before, an age old memory that was hidden inside of him for so long. Images flashed in front of his eyes. A young boy with big hazel eyes looking up at him over a bowl of Lucky Charms, a goofy smile decorating his baby face. "Sammy?" Dean frowned and then growled out of frustration. He didn't have time for this now. He shook his head in anger, trying to rid himself of that nagging memory. He knew that he was missing something, but now was not the time to dwell on that. He let the cane slip from his hand and watched as it landed with a thud on the floor. He grabbed hold of Sam's hair and pulled his head back sharply. He wasn't surprised to see that the young man had finally lost consciousness. Dean really went to town on Sam’s back with the cane; he could even feel it in his own shoulder. Dean looked at the time and decided to let Sam hang where he was. There was no way that Sam would be able to get away, so he headed to the shower. It was time for the last part of his plan to be set off with a bang. He grinned, and his cock hardened at the thought of having Daniel under him, slamming into him over and over again. He would finally get even. It was a shame Daniel had to die, but every war had its casualties.

Dean took a quick shower and then he dressed with care. The clothes that he chose were brand new. He made sure that all the tags were removed before he dressed. These clothes would be burned the moment he was done; that is, if he survived this himself. Dean shook his head; he couldn't allow himself to think like that. His Master had taught him better - he would survive - he was stronger than them. He looked at where Sam was still slumped; he would take care of him when he returned. Then he would take the time to get to know his Angel properly, intimately and hopefully get to the bottom of why this man and the way he called his name made him feel so strangely.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam groaned as the pain on his back brought him back to reality. His whole body was screaming in pain, his shoulders agonizing and he just didn't have the strength left inside of him to pull himself up on the chains to ease the pressure.

He couldn't help it but groan again and looked up at the cuffs that held his hands bound. It was a set of normal police issued cuffs and with a paper clip in his hand, he could be out of them in seconds, but that was exactly the current problem. He was butt naked and he had no paperclip. That left only one solution. A painful one, but one born out of necessity. He'd done this before, in fact his dad made him practice it over and over. It fucking hurt like a bitch every time, but it was the perfect way to get out of these cuffs, especially with this wrists bleeding, he would slip right out of them. But first, the hard part - he had to dislocate his thumbs to get his hands through. He hated that feeling, but with practice it came more naturally, although it was not something he did on a regular basis. Sam grunted in pain and then shouted as his left thumb gave way. He'd really forgotten the way it felt, his whole hand went numb, but he breathed through the pain and then started to wiggle his hand up and down so that the blood flow more easily, slicking everything up nicely before he pulled hard. He screamed as his hand slipped through and all of his body weight now hung from his right arm. It was a stupid fucking idea, but it was the only idea he had. He breathed through the waves of pain and nausea and then started the process all over again with his right hand. On instinct he bent his knees as he felt the cuff slipping off his hand. He still landed hard and fell to his side to make sure he stayed off his sliced up feet. Sam was not sure how long he lay like that before he managed to move himself. He didn't bother to rise to his feet, but after he popped his thumbs back in he crawled over to the side of the room. He didn't even try to get out the warehouse. Judging from the silence around him, he knew he was too late to stop Dean, but he still had the chance to at least do some damage control, he just hoped Dean would listen to him. The only thing left for him to do at this stage was to wait. He was so tired, so cold, and even though his back and his thighs were no longer bleeding he could still feel the blood sticking against his skin, the marks and open wounds stretching hard over his skin. All he wanted to do was to close his eyes and get some rest. Sam tried to fight, but his body refused to co-operate and slowly he fell into a deep sleep, curled into himself, protected only by a ring of salt.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Henriksen smiled as he ended the call, the final breakthrough he needed came through and now he had a solid lead on the serial killer. He wanted to celebrate right away, but knew that he had to be patient. He tucked his Berretta into the holster and grabbed his jacket; he had to share the news with his boss and then it was time to take the creep down.

At Groves's door he knocked hard and then entered. He smiled at Daniel. "Is the boss in?" He placed his hand on the connecting door in anticipation of Daniel's nod.

Daniel could feel the excitement roll off Agent Henriksen and he nodded quickly. He wasn't surprised at all that the man burst into the room even before he could stop nodding his head. The door however, was shut completely and he could only hear the muffled sounds coming through the door.

Groves looked up as his top agent entered his office. He could see the way Victor carried himself that he had some exciting news and a pit of doom opened up in his stomach. He calmed himself mentally and waited for his agent to speak up first. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.

"We've got him. He's horded up in an abandoned warehouse downtown. He was sighted entering the building approximately thirty minutes ago."

Groves nodded his head. "How sure are we?" He needed to play for time. He needed to get some of his own plans into operation to make sure that things ended the way he wanted them to end.

"From what I understand we've got a ninety percent chance that it's him."

Groves shook his head. "Not good enough." He held up his hand as the agent wanted to interrupt. "We've got only one chance with this. If it comes out that we're on his trail and we fuck this up, he'll disappear and we'll have lost our chance. We need to be a hundred percent sure."

"Sir, with all due respect." Victor couldn't believe his ears. They've moved on targets when they only got a sixty percent accuracy report.

"No." Groves shook his head. "Make sure about his identity. You will not make a move on him until you've got a hundred percent accuracy report. Do I make myself clear?" He waited for Henriksen to nod his head before he continued. "We all want him bad, but if you disobey this order, Victor, I will ride your ass so hard, you'll be demoted so far down that the cleaning staff will have more rank then you."

"Yes, Sir." Henriksen spit the words out and then turned and left the office, not even waiting to be dismissed.

"Daniel!" Groves called out to his PA. He waited for his assistant to appear in the door before he continued. "Take the afternoon off." He didn't say anything else but dismissed the younger man by picking up his phone to make a call. He knew Daniel would not linger around. The boy would never say no to a chance to get out of the office early.

Daniel frowned as he heard the raised voices from behind the closed office door and then nearly jumped out of his chair when Agent Henriksen stormed out and his own boss called him in seconds after. He was surprised to hear he could go home, but he didn't mind at all. He logged off and quickly packed this personal belongs up. As he walked to the door he reached for his phone. He wondered if Dean would be able to meet him for lunch.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Henriksen slammed his own office door shut and tiredly ran his hands over his face. He couldn't understand his boss's reaction. From the beginning Groves' head was not on this case. He even heard through the grapevine that Groves objected to him being appointed to this case, but apparently his senior was overruled by the powers that be higher up in the agency. It made him wonder, but then he also couldn't let that distract him from the task at hand. He had the _Master of the blade_ in his sight and he'd be damned if he let him slip away.

He took up his phone and started to make calls. They needed proof that it was indeed the monster they were looking for in that warehouse. He would make sure they got the proof they needed.


	9. Blade Master: Chapter 8

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Chap8.jpg)

  


**Chapter 8**

Daniel smiled as Dean opened the car door for him and waited patiently for him get into the vehicle. He smiled softly as the older man placed a bracing hand on his arm, holding him back at the last second and leaned in before he kissed him hard. Only when Dean released him did he breathe again. "Wow." He blushed at his own reaction.

Dean laughed and traced Daniel's slightly swollen lips with his finger. "Are you sure you want to go to lunch first?"

Daniel nodded his head. "You've told me so much about this Italian place, that I can only think of pasta. So, yes, I'll suck you off as many times as you want, but please, feed me first."  
This time Dean laughed out loud. "Get in, it's not far from here." He held the door open and waited for Daniel to be seated before he closed the door softly. His eyes hardened up as he looked over to the FBI building, he knew that within those walls his last target awaited. There was only a few hours left and then everything he worked for would come to the perfect end.  


[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

Groves stared at the images on his computer. He could feel the blood draining from his face and it was just in time that he turned his head and heaved hard into the waste bin next to him. He was staring at photos of Dean's previous victims and they were the worst of all. There was also a short vid included that showed Matt being tortured so slowly. Even though the volume of his computer was down to the lowest-setting possible he could hear the young man's screams echo through his office. Tears spilled down his cheeks. Matt looked into the camera, his eyes pleading in that last moment before they dulled forever. What disturbed him more was the message that appeared on his screen next. **HE'S NOT FAMILY, HE'S JUST AN EMPLOYEE, BUT YOU LOVE HIM ENOUGH TO CARE AND THAT'S ENOUGH FOR ME. COME AND GET ME, COME AND TAKE HIS PLACE - IF YOU DARE.**

"Shit!" He screamed and swiped everything clear of his desk. Even without Dean mentioning Daniel by name in that last part of the message he knew Dean had gotten to Daniel. He never thought Dean would go after the young PA. He was so absolutely sure that Dean would come straight for him. He made a huge mistake and now Daniel was paying for that. He had no choice, he would not let Daniel die for this, that sweet kid didn't deserve this. He looked down at his hands, they were shaking hard, but he knew the moment he had his gun in his hand they would be still, he just had to get there first.

Groves thought of Henriksen and then groaned. He couldn't let the agent find out what was going on. He would have to plan everything perfectly. He would make sure that Daniel got out alive, that Daniel would be able to tell everyone that Henriksen died as a hero, but be none the wiser on what would really transpire.

He looked at the directions Dean left for him in the email and saw that it was the same place Henriksen mentioned when he came to him earlier. He had to act carefully, he knew Henriksen had to get there on time to die, but he also had to make sure he got there first. He took his weapon out of his drawer and snapped it shut in the holster; his ankle piece was already in place. As he left the office he couldn't help but to look in Henriksen's office direction. He saw the door still opened and knew that the agent was still there. At least there seemed to be one thing working out in his favor.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
"Are you sure?" Henriksen asked for the third time. He had to be absolutely sure if he wanted the go ahead on storming the dilapidated building. Groves would never give him the go ahead if he hadn't gotten the proof. He looked at his watch. It was nearly five in the afternoon. He couldn't believe how fast the time went by. He listened to the voice over the landline and at the same time he looked at the image that came through over his mobile phone. It was a clear photo of their target. Henriksen groaned as he saw that the man had someone with him. The camera angle was off so he couldn't get a clear view of the second man, but that alone gave him enough motivation to move fast. If they didn't, another innocent victim would die. He couldn't let that happen - not again.

He placed his phone down and headed towards Groves' office. This time he didn't knock. He knew Daniel went home so he stepped right in and went to the connecting door. It was not entirely shut so he rapped his knuckles on the door and entered, not waiting for an invite. The sight that greeted him on the inside made him frown.

Everything was swiped off the desk and there was no sign of his boss. Victor quickly walked around the desk and looked at the computer screen. He was glad to see that it wasn't locked and he only had to move the mouse slightly to see what the last email opened up. It made his blood run cold and he quietly sank into Groves' chair. That _monster_ had Daniel. Sweet Daniel that wouldn't hurt a fly. The message to Groves didn't make sense, but he had no time to ponder about that. He had to get over to the warehouse and there was no time to waste.

Victor didn't even bother to reach the rest of his team. He would call them on the way; he had to get there. He would not let Daniel die - not on his watch.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Daniel laughed as Dean told yet another joke. He was head over heels in love and if it were possible he would've shouted it out to the world. He leaned over as the traffic light turned red and Dean stopped the vehicle and kissed the older man deep. He loved the taste of Dean on his tongue, on his lips.

Dean groaned into the kiss and opened his lips so that Daniel could thrust his tongue deeper. He loved the way Daniel played with him, the way Daniel tasted him and licked at him. He could feel himself harden and groaned while at the same time he pulled away to break their kiss. "Let's get lunch behind us." He grinned and then turned left into the industrial side of town.

Daniel frowned as he saw that they were heading towards the rundown side of town. "Are you sure you're not lost?"

Dean smiled before he answered, "Positive." "You'll love the place, I promise."

Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm not so sure about this, Dean."

Dean looked over to Daniel and then smiled softly. "Hey, why are you so worried? You trust me, don't you?"

Daniel blushed. He couldn't believe he was acting so weird. "I'm sorry, of course I trust you." He leaned in to kiss Dean again, just to prove his point.

Dean kissed Daniel back and then slowed the car down. "We're here." He kissed Daniel again, this time hard, bruising Daniel's lips, before he quickly got out of the car to help Daniel out. "I know it looks a bit run down, but I promise you it's worth it."

Daniel frowned. There was nothing around to indicate that they were at a restaurant. There was no sign to indicate the place. There were no other vehicles or any sign of life to say they were at the right place and for the first time he met Dean he got scared. "Dean, what's going on here?"

"Nothing much," Dean whispered as he moved in behind Daniel and pulled him towards his chest. "Let's just say you're part of the lunch menu and leave it at that." He didn't give Daniel the chance to answer put pressed the knife hard against Daniel's side, immediately drawing a gasp from the younger man as the first dropped of blood stained his shirt.

"Now, be a good little boy and get your tight little ass over to the door." Dean pressed Daniel in the direction of the garage entrance. "I promise that if you play nice and don't create a scene I will even let you live in time for dinner."

"Dean?" Daniel was scared, but found himself moving in the direction Dean was ordering him.  
Dean ignored the question in Daniel's voice, but continued to steer him towards the entrance. "No talking." His voice has lost the warmth it held before. He kept the knife pressed against Daniel's skin as he opened the door with the remote. He let the door open wide enough to usher Daniel inside before he started to close it up again. Only when the door closed shut behind them did he shove Daniel away from him. "Move." He barked the order out and held the knife so that Daniel could see it in the dim light.

"Dean, Dean, what's going on?" Daniel pleaded.

"Shut up and walk." Dean shoved at Daniel and smiled as the last remaining color from Daniel's face drained away. "You're so fucking naive, did you for one moment think that you could find happiness from a stranger?" He sneered as he saw the hurt in the younger man's eyes. "Really, fucking naive." He grabbed Daniel by the arm and shoved him along the dark hall. He kept on pushing him deeper into the belly of the building, shutting Daniel's pleading voice out of his mind and getting into the right headspace for the next stage of his plan.

Daniel gagged as the stench of blood hit his sense of smell hard. He could taste the copper on his tongue and placed his hand over his mouth to try and lessen the impact. His side burned where the knife nicked him and he tried to concentrate on that to keep himself calm. He knew he already asked too many questions to appear calm to Dean, but he had to do something to feel in control of himself, even though it was nothing more than an illusion. He tried not to look at the blood stained floor or even the different shades of red to brown that covered the walls, instead he found his attention drawn to the two tables that were clearly bolted down to the floor and the set of chains that hung from the top. He could see the cuffs that decorated the tables and for a moment he found it strange, before his body caught up with what his mind was seeing and he stopped dead in his tracks and turned and started to run.

Dean laughed and reached out and yanked Daniel back - hard. He saw the young man stumble, falling hard to his knees, but it didn't matter. In one smooth action Dean picked him up and even as Daniel started to scream and struggle hard within his hold he didn't let go. He carried him over to the nearest table and slammed him down. He heard Daniel's breath leave his body as he made contact with the wooden surface beneath him. He saw Daniel's body go limp for a second or two and then the man's eyes grew wide as Dean held him down with one bracing arm and slid the first cuff over his wrist and then the second. Before Daniel's breath returned he was cuffed down and he could no longer run. It made him panic even more, his eyes wider then a few seconds before, but what made him scream and made him continue screaming until Dean's fist connected with the side of his face and darkness surrounded him in an instant, was the curled up naked and bloodied figure in the corner of the room surrounded by a white line as if it was a halo protecting him against evil, against the horrors of this room.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam's own groans brought him back to face reality around him. His eyelids felt heavy and it was with great difficulty that he managed to lift them. He blinked hard as his vision blurred again. He was still dead tired. Sam managed to turn his head sideways and only then realized where he was. He was once again tied up on one of the tables and it was with horror that he realized that the other table was no longer empty. He saw no marks on the body tied to it, but the way the man was so utterly still made him believe that he was either unconscious or heavily drugged. He hoped for the second option, because if he were unconscious it would mean that Dean already hurt him in some way or another.

"Master?" Sam whispered the word; it rolled easily off his tongue.

Dean turned his head as he heard the whisper behind him. He couldn't help but smile as he saw the angst in Sam's eyes. "You think you can save him?"

Sam lowered his gaze and nervously licked at his bottom lip. "Yes."

Dean snorted. "You really don't get it, do you? They are meant to die, it's their fate."

Sam shook his head. "You know that's not true, please, Master, please, let him go."

Dean ignored Sam's pleas, instead he turned back to face the unconscious man. "I love working from the right side of the body and move my way around until I end up back where I begun. Tonight I'm starting on the other side, Angel. I've decided to take you up on your offer to become mine, but for that you need to see what my work entails, to be able to distinguish between slits and cuts and scrape wounds. To know what blade I'm using for what purpose. Since I can't untie you, you'll have to watch from where you are. I'm only going to show you once, so make sure you concentrate. When I'm done on this side you will tell me what knife and what stroke I will use to complete my artwork." Not once did he look up, but merely picked up each and every knife and turned it between his fingers before moving on to the next one.

"You will also no longer speak, unless I ask you a direct question. If you disobey this simple order I will kill you." This time Dean did turn around and looked at Sam. "Is that clear?"

Sam swallowed hard and then nodded his head once. He had to stay calm, he had to follow Dean's orders for now and hopefully he'll get an opportunity to get Dean to see what's going on. "Yes, Master." He kept his gaze low until Dean spoke up again.

"Good, let's begin." Dean took up one of the thin scalpels that he had. "I always start with shallow cuts. It's just to make the skin bleed little droplets and nothing more." Dean pressed the blade to Daniel's skill and Sam could see by the way he was holding the instrument that it would only scratch the young man's skin.

Sam frowned as Dean made the first cut. Dean was breaking his routine, he never started on his victim’s arms and Sam then realized - Dean was stalling for time, but he couldn't understand why. Sam opened his mouth, but then closed it shut, it was not the time to break his first order from his Master, instead he bit hard down on his bottom lip and watched as Dean's fingers curled around the blade and started to cut the skin so slowly.

Sam felt the tears running down his face in complete silence as Dean continued leaving little blood trials behind on the young man's body underneath his hands. Each stroke of the blade was done with precision, leaving no room for error. Sam could hear Dean humming something under his breath and tried to strain his ears to catch the tune, but the volume stayed just so low that he couldn't catch it.

Sam looked on as Dean changed blades. The second scalpel had a chiseled blade, so that he could cut deeper and Sam knew those marks would scar forever. The second object was traded for a blade that was triangular; it had a sharp point and a flat cutting back and edge. Dean's hands moved fast, but he was steady and the last knife he picked up was small pointed, with a crescent-shaped blade that was sharpened on the inside edge of the curve. When he carved the last bit out on the skin he stood back and grinned as he turned to face Sam.

"Done, what do you think?"

Sam had trouble to look away from what Dean has done, but he also heard the direct question and he knew he had to answer it. "It's perfect." It was; he couldn't deny it. It was the angel tattoo he himself had in his neck, but it was surrounded with barbed wire, just like that tattoo on Dean's face. On some places it was still bleeding but the lines where clearly visible.

"Master, why are you marking him like that?"

Dean looked at Sam before he answered. "He's not like the others, just maybe he doesn't..." Dean didn't get the chance to complete his sentence as one of the rigged booby traps got triggered. "Seems like play time is over." He wiped his hands on the ever-present rag and then headed over to where his own firearm was placed. He didn't look at Sam or at Daniel, but steadily made his way over to the huge door that divided this room from the rest of the warehouse. "Don't even think of getting off that table." He grunted the order before he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"Shit!" Sam cussed and immediately tried to get out of the cuffs. He knew he was disobeying a direct order, but he was acting on his Master's best interest. Wasn't that the reason he served? He would do anything to keep his Master safe, even if it meant he had to keep Dean safe from himself. He had to save Dean, because if that was Henriksen that tripped that wire, Dean would be dead before this night came to an end.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Groves cursed as the tripped the wire and the alarm sounded through the room. He knew it was loud enough to be heard through the whole building. He had to hand it to Dean, the man was even more cunning then he had thought, but then being raised by _that_ son of a bitch should've made him to expect that. He wondered if Dean ever found out his true relationship with his so called Master.

Groves no longer proceeded with caution. He knew Dean was now well aware of the fact that he had company. The only thing left for him to do, was to make his way through this hellhole and get to where Dean had Daniel. He would not stop at anything; Daniel would not die.

He kept his firearm in front of him, wanting to be ready to pull the trigger first when he saw Dean. He would not engage him in any conversation. This was an easy mission - get in, save Daniel, get out; leave Dean for Henriksen and mop up the last lose ends.

As he rounded another corner he once again faced an empty hall. Groves became aware of the movement behind him too late. He only felt the cold barrel against the back of his head and knew it was time he faced the man that was _created_ by a group of men who wanted the perfect solution and they gave the go ahead for this monster to come into existence. Neither man spoke; no words were necessary between them. "I always save the best for last." Dean whispered before he struck out with the barrel of his firearm and smashed it hard into the back of the agent's neck. Darkness surrounded Groves in an instant.

Dean leaned down and removed the man's weapon from his grip. He searched him and threw his ID card and cuffs to the side. He then dragged the man back to where Sam and Daniel waited. It was time for all of this to come to an end.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Henriksen cursed again. There was something wrong with their com system and the moment he entered the building he'd lost all contact with the team. He didn't have the time to get out back again, and decided to push forward. It was against company policy to go in alone in any possible hostage situation, but they were talking about Daniel here and more than likely Groves as well. He didn't have the luxury to follow company procedure, not if he wanted to get both men out of there alive.

By the time he reached the second landing he was drenched with sweat. Never in all his days in the field or even when he did he training was he tested like this. More than once he wanted to go back and gather an assault team and burst through the front entrance - it would be such an easy option, but he knew by going that route, he would sign both men's death warrants. This was the only way he could get in. Once again he took a deep breath before he carefully climbed over yet another booby trap. He frowned as he looked at the way the trap was set, it was set in the same way as he was trained to do and the nagging feeling that Groves knew more about this monster than he let up settled within him.

It took him over an hour to reach the last landing. At the end of the hall a solid steel door barred his way, or so he thought. He could feel a draft coming from that direction and when he looked closely at the door he could see that it was not properly locked. That gave him hope; it meant that the monster was getting sloppy. Slowly he made his way over to the door. He leaned against the wall and peeked through the narrow opening. He frowned when he saw that Groves was down for the count. The man was lying on the floor, his body slumped in such a way that it was clear that he was not conscious. For a moment he wondered if the agent was still alive. He had to look long and hard at Steven's body before he saw the gentle rise of his chest and he could feel some of worst his fear ebb away.

He could hear Dean's voice. _'Dean Winchester'_ , his team texted him the name just before he entered the building. Another one of the reasons he hated the fact that he lost contact with the team. They were supposed to give him more information on the man, but with the coms down he was now completely in the dark. He wondered if Groves knew who the man was. He was brought out of his own musings as he heard Dean speak up again. By the man's voice he could hear he was more than just pissed off. It didn't look like he had any weapon in his hand, but Victor knew he still had to be very careful in order to take the killer down. He had the power to shoot and ask questions later and he'd never hesitate before to do just that, but this time things were different. It required more caution, less heroics.

He frowned when he heard Dean speak up again. The man was pacing hard up and down. It was clear that he didn't perceive Groves as a threat as his back was turned to the man and he didn't even once look over in his direction. Victor wondered to whom he could be talking as he also had a view of Daniel and could see that the young man was in no condition to talk.

His attention shifted back to his boss as he saw the man's hands twist next to his side. The movement was small and for a moment he wondered if it was his imagination, but then the twitch was back again. Groves was starting to regain consciousness and Dean's back was turned away. If Groves played his cards right, they still might have a chance to take Dean down, he just hoped Groves would take it easy and wish there was a way to get his attention. They only had one chance to take the monster down, and they couldn't afford to fuck it up.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
"Master, please." Sam pleaded as he stilled himself when Dean came back, dragging the man with him. He had managed to free his own hand, his wrists still raw and bloody enough for him to wiggle it free. He was about to free his other hand when Dean came back. He was glad that he started off with the arm the farthest away from Dean and just hoped that Dean would be preoccupied enough not to notice it.

"Stop it, Angel!" Dean growled. He couldn't stand to hear Sam beg again for him to release Daniel from the table. Yes, he was aware that he himself had mixed feelings about Daniel - something that he never felt for any of the other men that became his canvasses, but he had a job to do.

Sam heard the threat in Dean's voice just as hard as the order itself. He felt it settle on him and even though he still wanted to plead he went silent. He had to save Dean, but he also had to save the young man and the new stranger that was lying on the floor. He had seen photos of agent Henriksen before so he knew that this dark headed man was not he. He also didn't fit Dean's profile of any of the other victims; for one - he was too old. The way Dean treated him by just leaving him on the floor, by not stripping him of his clothes and by ignoring him made Sam frown. It was as if Dean had no time for him, that he didn't see him. Something was going on and Sam knew he would have to figure it out himself, because he would get no help from Dean on this.

Sam wanted to whimper with frustration as Dean walked over to where the young man was strapped down on the table. He was told to keep quiet, but it was hard not to start to beg again. He bit hard into his lip to stop the words forming on his lips. When Dean took up one of the broad knives, Sam knew he had to act; he would face the consequences later. "Who's the man on the floor, Sir? He doesn't seem like your type?"

Dean's head snapped back as Sam spoke up. He shook his head and placed the blade back on the tray. He was so drawn to Daniel's perfect skin and the urge inside of him to complete this masterpiece that he'd forgotten about his so called _apprentice_. "What, you don't know who that is?" He sneered. He walked away from the tables and crouched down beside the man lying on the floor. "He's the final piece to everything. It's him and his superiors that made me into what I am. He gave the order, he will suffer."

Sam frowned. "What order, Sir?"

Dean looked hard at Sam before he answered. "The order to kill the man that made me into what I am today - my Master." He didn't elaborate, but made his way over back to Daniel's side. He wanted to work some more on his latest canvas, at least until Groves woke up, because then the games could really start.

"Now, Angel, it's time to keep quiet and learn, because you do want to learn, don't you?" Dean looked at Sam and then turned back to Daniel and picked up the blade again. "Before razors men used blades to shave, let me show you just how it was done."

Sam had no choice but to look on as Dean gently started to shave Daniel's legs and he knew it wouldn't be long before Dean would start slicing the skin from the young man's legs in long single strips. Yet, he couldn't keep his gaze away. Dean was really a master with the knife.  


[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

Victor's blood ran cold as he heard Dean speak. He couldn't understand what was going on, but it was clear that Dean knew Groves. They way he talked about him, the loathing in his voice clearly audible and then the bomb he dropped, that Groves gave an order to kill someone Dean saw as his master, but that he was also responsible for turning Dean into what he was and to Henriksen it all held the truth. He felt it inside of him, that Dean was only speaking the truth and although he knew that Dean was still a monster, still a killer of men, he would not let this piece of the puzzle slip out of his hands until he got to the bottom of this. He gasped as he saw Groves twist. It was clear that the agent had regained his consciousness and that he also overheard what Dean had said. He could see Groves’ body readied to strike out and for a moment he had no idea what to do - whom to assist, whom to warn.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
Sam could taste the blood on his own lip. He was too late to stop Dean from scarring the young man. The damage on his legs was too severe not to scar over. He hoped that plastic surgery would be able to lessen the scars, but they would always be visible, if only to the victim himself.

His eyes grew wide as a movement caught his eye. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the man on the floor, but even worse, he couldn't believe that he'd forgotten about Henriksen and now Dean had to face both of them by the look of things. "DEAN!" Sam shouted even as the man on the floor moved forward to strike with agent Henriksen following in his wake, his actions mimicking that of the other man.

Dean heard the panic and warning in his angel's voice and as he turned, all hell broke loose and Dean found himself in the middle of his own heaven...


	10. Blade Master: Chapter 9

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**Chapter 9**

Dean had to turn quickly as the man he left on the floor barreled down on him. He could see the fury in the man's eyes and for a second he found himself smiling at it. One of the first lessons his Master drilled into his skull was that you never fought in anger. All emotions should be shifted aside and your mind should be clear.

He sidestepped Groves' first swing at him with perfect ease. He immediately saw that not only was Groves right-handed, but that it was his weak side as well and Dean could use that to his advantage. He saw a second guy charging at him and Dean turned sharply to avoid the punch to his chin. He grinned as the guy's momentum launched him passed Dean and the man nearly slammed into Groves, who was coming back for a second blow. Dean's eyebrow lifted as the two men snarled at each other; he thought that they were supposed to be on the same side, but it sure didn't look that way.

Dean knew the layout of the room like the back of his hand and he eased backwards, beyond the tables, to give himself more space to take these men down. He wouldn't kill them, but he would take them apart with his knives. They came into his domain; they deserve to die by his blades. He had to take them down first though.

Henriksen snarled at Groves as his boss shoved him hard to the side. They were supposed to take down this monster, together, not fight each other. He was aware of the pistol at his back, but with the confined space they found themselves in, and the fact that there were two men shackled down to tables made him wary of using the gun. However, he would not hesitate to draw and shoot if it came down to that. He had enough training in hand-to-hand combat to fight without his gun.

Groves wanted to snap at Henriksen for being here. He had no idea what the agent was doing here, but that was something he couldn't deal with right now. He just hoped that after they managed to take Dean down, the sniper he arranged would clean up the rest. He sidestepped Henriksen to launch himself at Dean again. He swung hard with his right fist, but followed it up very quickly with his left. His right hand met with air alone, but the knuckles of his left fist brushed against skin and the shock wave passed through his fist and up his arm. It was a good hit and he watched with some satisfaction as Dean stumbled back two paces. He stepped forward and lashed out again, but this time Dean moved faster and his fists just passed by harmlessly. Groves concentrated so hard on where Dean's hands were that he never thought of the man's feet and he grunted in pain as a well-aimed kick met his right knee hard. He felt the knee snap back and knew that his ligaments were gone. His legs gave way and he hit the floor hard. Luckily for him, Henriksen was there and he was spared a snapped neck when Henriksen barreled hard into Dean's side.

Dean felt the punch to the side of his head and tasted the blood as his teeth caught hard on his tongue. Luckily the shot didn't loosen any of his teeth, but he would have one lovely bruise to show on this side of his face. His instincts were right as he stumbled back, but he also knew that Groves would have over balanced with that left hook to compensate for his weaker right and he stepped forward keeping his hands high to distract the man in front of him and then kicked out hard and straight. He heard the knee snap and knew it had to hurt like a bitch, but he couldn't care. On instinct he moved forward and was about to grab Groves up by his hair to do some more damage when the second guy slammed hard into his side, knocking both of them off their feet.

Dean rolled his body and tried to get the upper hand. He didn't want to be pinned on the floor and used his hands that were trapped between their bodies to deliver short jabs right on the man's kidneys. He heard the satisfying grunts of discomfort and lifted his hips from the floor and managed to roll the guy from him. In an instant he was on his feet and he was surprised to see that the other man was nearly as fast as himself. They started to circle each other, looking for any signs of weakness.

Henriksen was impressed with Dean’s agility, and was proud of himself for being able to match that. Dean was stronger than he looked. His punches had power, his sides bruised where Dean's fists connected. Henriksen didn't concentrate on just one thing, he took in Dean's stance, where he kept his fists, even the way his breathing sound. He couldn't find a weakness, not by dancing around the man. All of his trainers always talked about remaining calm during a fight and he always shook his head at that, he never could leave all of his emotions at the door, but this guy did. _This_ was what the trainers were talking about. He shivered for a second and prayed that he would get out of this fight with his life and then he lunged forward.

Dean took in the man standing across from him. He was breathing hard, but not because he was out of shape, it was more from the adrenalin rushing through his body. Dean would've loved to spar with this guy. It looked like he had the stamina to go at it for hours and for a moment Dean wondered if he could just play with him for a while, just to test his theory. The decision was taken out of his hands however as the man moved forward and they started to trade blows. He managed to block with his right and jab with his left, twisting his body to rise to his toes and jump to the side barely missing another shot to the side of his face. He stepped forward, instead of retreating; forcing the guy onto his back foot, making him move back into an unknown space. The trick worked and the man glanced back giving Dean that fraction of a second he needed and he leaped forward and caught his opponent unaware. He hit out hard, his fists pummeling as he caught the man in the face, again on the kidneys and the final shot hard to the jaw, snapping the man's head back with a satisfying crunch. He saw the man's eyes turn over in their sockets as the man's knees gave away beneath him and he sank to the ground. At the same time there were shouts to Dean’s left, and as he turned he took in several things at once.

Groves had a gun pointed at him and the distance between them was too far apart for Dean to even attempt to disarm him. He could only wait for the trigger to be pulled and the shot to ring out. He smirked as Groves pulled the safety back. "Seems like you won."

Groves turned his head to the side and spit blood out. "The good guys always win."

Dean laughed. He couldn't believe that the guy hadn't shot him yet - he would've. It showed him just how cocky Groves was and he knew that Groves lost the advantage he had in that moment. He slowly raised his hands up in mock surrender. "You're not a good guy and you know that."

Groves shrugged his shoulders. "It all depends on where you stand. I wear the badge, I catch the scum, so yes - I'm the good guy."

"You are responsible for mass murder." Dean growled.

"As if you care." Groves smirked. "You killed over eighty people and that's without the tantrum you're throwing now."

"All of those men I killed I murdered on order from my Master, from you and your group of power hungry, grabby bastards." Dean snarled and moved one small step forward. He sounded angry, but he had his emotions tucked away.

"Yes, your master. That freak." Groves shivered as he thought about the man that Dean saw as his savior. He witnessed more than one session of torture that man conducted over the years on men and women alike.

"Don't you dare speak about him like that!" Dean screamed and his whole body shivered as rage crushed over him. It took everything he got inside of him to not fling himself on the man with the gun in front of him.

"Temper, Dean, temper. What would your _'Master'_ say if he could see you like this?"

"Fuck you, you have no right to bring him into this! You killed him."

Groves nodded his head. "Yes, I did. Not personally, but yes, I gave that order. And you know what - it was the best order I ever had to give. I was just so disappointed that you weren't there. You know, we never could find out why you were not there?"

"He knew. He knew what was going to happen and he sent me on a wild goose chase to keep me away from him." Dean spoke through clenched teeth.

Groves cocked his head and then nodded once. "Never thought he knew, but now everything makes sense. A conniving bastard until his last breath. Have to admire him for that."

"Why?" Dean always wanted to ask that question.

"Why? Are you telling me you really don't know? Your leash was a hell of a lot shorter back then than I thought." He looked at Dean, the gun not wavering once. "Because he threatened to ruin everything. He would've brought the whole government to its knees because of _her_.

"Her? You referring to the ex first lady?" Dean frowned. He always knew his Master had a soft spot for the wife of the previous president, but that was because he was a close family friend.  
Groves snorted and then looked at Dean, before a light went up in his head. "You don't know, you really have no fucking clue, do you?"

"He banged her, he fucked her against any surface he could. He was supposed to get close to her so that we could set our plans into operation. Instead he fell for her and everything we worked for blew up in our faces." Groves was more then angry; he was livid. Because of Campbell their whole project was scrapped. Their funding retracted and each of them was given a golden handshake. They couldn't accept that and it was an easy order to give. Take out Samuel Campbell, Dean and the then-first lady. Clean up the mess and start over again, this time even smaller, even more exclusive - not even meant for the president's eyes and ears. Groves noted a change in Dean. Since he said that Campbell fucked the bitch, Dean had become eerily silent. He could see small tremors run through Dean's body and he laughed.

"You really thought that he was just a family friend? I never thought that you were that blind. No one kisses a family friend like that, unless they're sharing a bed." He became aware of a low growl emanating from Dean and he couldn't help but shiver.

"You're lying, he wouldn't." Dean could feel himself tremble. The sensation didn't want to go away. Although he didn't want to believe it, something in Groves' voice made him believe the other man.

Groves didn't answer but let what he saw settle down and then laughed again. "He was more than just your _'Master'_ , wasn't he? He fucked you as well." The last was a statement, no doubt in his voice. "How sick is that."

Dean shook his head. "NO! It wasn't like that."

"Not? Then what was it like? Are you telling me, that he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, held you close and told you about his undying love for you? Get real, Dean. That fucking bastard only had one thing on his mind and that was to make sure you never rebelled. That you became what he intended you to be. And boy, did he succeed in that. He made sure you were loyal to him, even if it meant banging his own **grandson**." He sneered as Dean's head snapped back at the last statement. "What? Surprised are you? Let me tell you a little story. Samuel Colt was deep undercover for years. He even staged his own death to make sure he could continue to work for the agency. Imagine his horror to find out that his only daughter had been killed. He started to disappear for days on end. He came back with intel; not only on your father, but also on you and on your little brother." Groves took a breath. "Sam, I think you're brother's name was Sam." He looked over to where Daniel was groaning as he started to wake up. Groves knew it was time to wrap things up. "When it was decided we needed someone to kill whomever we asked to kill, your dad was a natural choice, but he had a weak spot - his boys. Campbell was the one who decided to take you. It was so easy. You fought so hard against those men, they had a lot of broken bones between them, but in the end, you where just ten years old and they managed to take you. Samuel had his rough days with you, but steadily he won you over and you became the perfect puppet - the perfect killing machine."

Dean didn't want to believe what he heard. His Angel - Sam, Groves was saying that Sam was his brother. What bothered him as well was that his Master was the only one that ever truly loved him. He would've never done that to him, but then everything else Groves said rang with truth. His whole life was falling apart and he felt so lost. Dean snarled and stormed forward, he would end it all now. He was aware of the fact that Groves was squeezing the trigger, he heard the shuffle of movement behind him and he saw his Angel barreling down on Groves and everything moved in slow motion. He felt the pressure on his back as he was shoved forward, at the same time the shot rang out and he saw Sam's body connected with Groves. Sam had one of Dean's knives in his hand and Dean saw the exact moment the blade slipped between Groves' ribs; he could see the life fade from Groves' eyes as the burning sensation spread through his own body. He looked down at his shoulder and saw the red blossom growing bigger and bigger as each long second passed. His legs became weak and then he fell to the floor even as Sam called out his name. He remembered, he remembered his father and his baby brother - Sammy. He welcomed the blackness with open arms.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Barbwire-1-1.jpg)

  
Sam looked over to where Agent Henriksen was cleaning Daniel's wounds. The young man was still out of it, not really sure about what was going on around him. Something that Sam was very grateful for. He turned his attention back to Dean and grimaced before he took the forceps again and pulled hard. The bullet had struck Dean high on the shoulder, making it bleed profusely and entangling the object between muscle and bone. He could feel the bullet and slowly he retracted the instrument back out of the wound. This was something he could deal with, it wasn't the first bullet he ever had to retrieve and it most likely wouldn’t be the last either. The crumpled up piece of metal slid out and he set it down on the tray. He didn't look up when Henriksen came to stand next to him; instead he continued to clean out the wound. He made sure nothing was nicked or bleeding on the inside before he poured some more holy water, which he took time to bless himself, out over the wound and then patted it dry with some gauze and slowly stitched the wound up. He only looked over at Henriksen after he tied the thread off.

"You heard everything?"

Henriksen nodded. He heard everything. Most still didn't make any sense, but what he heard made him realize that the man he thought off as his boss and as someone to have his back in times of need seemed like a scumbag at the least.

"I know he'd gone about everything the wrong way. He killed all of those men over the years because of one man." Sam still shivered to think that that man was their grandfather. He wondered how Dean would react when that bit of knowledge really sank in. He looked at Henriksen again before he continued. "Everything you need to know is in that room." He indicated over his right shoulder. He'd had a quick look at it as he fetched the first aid kit to patch Dean up. He knew Henriksen had to see it as well. He himself would look at it again later. Dean came first.

Henriksen didn't reply; instead he headed over to the room and flipped the light on to have a better look. Sam waited until the man disappeared before he looked down at Dean again. He could feel himself shivering, but still reached out and felt for Dean's pulse again. He had to take care of Dean, just like Dean took care of him. He would not let Dean down; Dean was his to care for, to serve. He gently picked Dean up, stifling the scream that threatened to erupt from within as his back made him aware that he was tortured not so long ago. But it didn't stop him. He carried Dean to the only bed in the place that he'd seen and lowered him down gently.

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Henriksen couldn't believe his eyes. He looked through the open doorway into the other room where Sam had placed Dean on the bed, then he looked up at the notes and photos pinned to the walls. Suddenly everything that Dean and Groves said to one another made sense. It was as if he was looking at the final puzzle piece. Yes, Dean might still be a cold heartless murderer, but for the first time he could see what had driven Dean to that point. What made him feel even more sympathy for the younger man was what he heard Groves tell Dean just before everything went to hell.

Not only was it Dean's own grandfather that, by the sound of things, kidnapped his own grandson and then made him into a kind of assassin; he had taken Dean on as a lover and Victor had a feeling that that might have broken Dean for good.

He looked over to where Sam was slowly washing the blood off Dean's body - his brother's body. He was still unsure how Sam had gotten here, but he was the young man who got the tattoo in his neck and he was here out of his own free will. Or at least Henriksen hoped so. He'd seen the marks and cuts on Sam's body. Saw how carefully he move around and knew that he must be in some pain as well. He looked over at Daniel. Sam had found some sort of sedative in one of the kits and he'd given Sam permission to inject the young man with it. At least Daniel was getting some rest. He was unsure on what he was to do about all of this; after all he was still an FBI agent. He was still the law. He wondered what his team was doing. He ordered them to stand down until he gave the go-ahead, but that was almost two hours ago. He had to act quickly, but how? He had no idea.

Instead, his eyes drifted back to the photos on the wall. Each victim was connected to an older male. In some instances the resemblance was noticeable, in others one would never guess they were related. Furthermore, each one was connected by a piece of red string taped to the walls that led to a set of dates in the middle. He had no idea what the meaning was, but he knew that with time, time that he didn't have, he'd be able to figure it out. He searched his own memories as he looked over dates and names. The government, either in the FBI or in other agencies, employed all the older men. He couldn't believe that the link between all of the victims was not seen, or should he say, not seen by him. It was clear that Groves knew. He lifted his gaze and looked over to where the other agent's body was sprawled out. Sam had managed to stab him once in the heart. Groves was dead, even before his body hit the floor. He already decided that he wouldn’t bring Sam in for the murder; Groves deserved what he got. He quietly ran a hand over his face. It had been a long day and it was time to end it all.

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Sam had to take care of Dean. He felt calm, he knew he was in the one place within himself he always felt comfortable in. Bobby called it his headspace, Sam called it his sub space, but whatever it was called, it always made him calm and able to concentrate better and deeper on the task at hand. He gathered the cloth and knelt beside Dean to gently wash him clean. Dean was still not responding to his voice and after Sam made sure he was comfortable he leaned back on his heels and waited for Agent Henriksen to return.

He was not sure on how long he knelt like that before he noticed the agent standing next to him. Slowly he rose to his feet. He had no idea what Henriksen thought or what he was going to do, but he was ready for anything. He could feel the blade at his back. He would not hesitate to take Henriksen out of the equation. His brother came first.

"He still out of it?" Henriksen asked as he stepped past Sam and Dean to check up on Daniel. The young man was still asleep and he was glad for the fact that Daniel was not hugely built. It wouldn't be too bad to carry him out of here. He would leave Groves here; the body could be collected later.

"Both of them are." Sam replied. He turned his body as Henriksen walked pass him. His back screamed as the material of the shirt he'd pulled over his body after he placed Dean on the bed stuck to some of the cuts on his back. Fuck, he really just wanted to get rid of the thing, but then Henriksen would see the knife and he couldn't allow that.

"Sam?" Henriksen looked over to where the young man now stood next to Dean. By his stance Henriksen could see that Sam was protecting Dean and he knew that Sam wouldn't hesitate to take him out. "I want you to get Dean out of here. I'm not going to bring him in. I've got a feeling that now that Groves is dead, Dean's revenge has come to an end."

Sam only nodded his head. There was nothing he could say. "What are you going to do?"

Henriksen looked down at Daniel, before he replied. "Going to say that I managed to get into the building through all of those freaking traps, but by the time I arrived here Dean had already taken out Groves. In a struggle I was hit unconscious and when I came too Dean was gone and it was only myself and Daniel that was left behind."

"Won't they wonder why Dean left you and Daniel alive?"

Victor shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing they can do about it, is there? Unfortunately Dean will now be hunted even more, but I will try my best to keep them off his scent. I would suggest that he gets a new identity."

"That will be no problem." Sam talked with confidence, and Henriksen knew that Sam would take care of that.

"Sam," Henriksen hesitated and then continued, "I'm sorry about what happened to Dean." He wanted to say so much more, but it wouldn't change a thing. Nothing that anyone could say would change it.

Sam nodded in silence. "Daniel will only have minimal scarring. With surgery on his legs, he will heal nicely. Dean had only begun with the design. He will not have Dean's mark on his skin."

"Unlike you?" Henriksen pushed for an answer.

Sam shook his head. "Dean didn't place his mark on me, I did that myself. Don't get me wrong, I'll do it again if I have to, but it's not the same. I hope one day, he'll mark me as his."

"You're brothers…" Henriksen started to say, but was interrupted by Sam.

"Not any more. Those bastards made sure we would never be brothers again. If it means that I have to forget the fact that we've got the same blood running through our veins, then so be it. I will give myself freely to him. He will need me, just as badly as I need him. I will be there for him - I will serve him." Sam looked at Henriksen for a long moment. "I need your help getting everything down from the walls and then I think it's time you leave."

Henriksen only nodded his head in acceptance before he walked over to the room where the photos were and started to rip everything from the wall. Sam had in so many words told him to keep his nose out of their business and he had to agree, it had nothing to do with him. When everything was gathered up he returned to the main room. It was time that they got going. He was grateful for Sam's help with Daniel and when they reached the so-called front door he placed Daniel down on the floor for a second and reached out with his hand to Sam. "Good luck, boy."

Sam nodded in response and then slipped away to get back to Dean to get them out before Henriksen's team stormed in. He just hoped that they would listen to the agent that Dean had already gotten away so that Sam still had a few moments to load Dean up and get out of Dodge.

Sam was about to take the stairs to the second floor when he heard the distinctive sound of two pops. There was only one thing that made such a noise – a Remington M40A1 sniper gun and even as the second silent pop faded Sam was running up the stairs. He didn't have to go and look who was shot, he knew now that Groves had an ace up his sleeve that they were not aware of. But now was not the time to ponder about it. He had to get to Dean; they had to get out of there.


	11. Blade Master: Chapter 10

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**Chapter 10**

**1 Week Later**  
Sam lifted his head as he heard Dean move on the bed. Slowly he came to his feet, grimacing at the ache, but still walked over to the bed and then lowered himself on his knees again. His hands were crossed at his back, his knees wide enough to show off his cock and balls. A sign of openness and vulnerability. He bowed his head and then waited for his brother, his Master, to wake up.

Dean groaned and then opened his eyes. He was stretched out on his bed and Sam was on his knees next to him. Even before he could say something Sam spoke up.

"It's time I tell you everything and then you can decide what you want to do with me." He lifted his gaze and looked Dean in the eye, before he bowed his head again.

Dean could see him brushing his lips with his tongue, wetting them up. He waited patiently for Sam to start talking.

Sam flexed his hands once, twice and then he started to talk. His voice was filled with emotion. Pain, love, worry, tenderness, heart ache rolled from his tongue and filled up the gaps inside of Dean that he'd suppressed for so long, those dreams he was under the impression were just that - dreams.

The only time Sam stopped talking was when Dean touched a hand to his shoulder and handed him a bottle of water. Sam was thankful for it and drank it down quickly before he continued. He left nothing out. He explained the loss he felt after Dean got taken. The guilt that nearly caused his death when he thought that it was his fault, his refusal to eat landing him in hospital for more than a week. They way his relationship with their father changed day after day. Sometimes John would be his pillar of strength, on other days he would be the one to help a drunk John to bed, but the one thing that made them stick together was the belief that they would find Dean again.

Dean brushed away Sam's tears as the young man told him how their father died. He told him about Uncle Bobby and Dean thought he remembered a gruff looking man that always had a baseball cap on his head and a yard filled with broken down vehicles.

Sam explained about the hunts they went on, the times John would disappear for weeks on end to go after the monster that killed their mother and as Sam talked about that, Dean remembered his father placing the small baby in his arms and told him to take care of Sam. He wanted to scream out in anger, to break everything apart with his bare hands. He's lost so much; they ruined not only his life, but the life of his family - his real family as well. Not once did Dean think that Sam was not telling the truth.

Dean lay in silence as Sam told him on what transpired after he got shot. He wanted to get angry when Sam confessed that not only did he himself go into Dean's separate room, but that he also sent Agent Henriksen in as well. Something must have shown in his posture as Sam took a breath and in a few words explained how Henriksen fitted into the picture. Sam then continued to relate on how Henriksen made the decision not to come after him and he heard himself groan as Sam told him what he had heard just beyond the closed door. He never doubted Sam once that what Sam heard was the truth and he himself felt anger and pain for the loss of Daniel and Henriksen. He knew he'd taken his revenge too far, and now he had no way to tell Daniel how sorry he was. But maybe that was a blessing in disguise as well. There were no lose ends left. It was just him and Sam.

Sam's voice was hoarse by the time he'd finished. Dean caught the time on his watch and it amazed him that Sam's been talking nonstop for almost three hours. He wanted to gather Sam up in his arms, but he had no idea how to do that, and he wondered if Sam realized that even though they might have found each other again, the bond that made them brothers could never be fixed. They could only be brothers in name. Dean was too damaged to return to being a normal man. But he also knew, he would not part from Sam. He would not be brainwashed again into forgetting about his family, his Sammy.

"I went out for food, do you want something to eat?" Sam kept his gaze lowered. This was the first time since they left the warehouse that Dean's really been awake, the first real communication between them.

"Help me up first." Dean grunted as he moved his shoulder and a shiver of pain traveled through it.

"Easy, don't want you to pull the stitches." Sam pressed him back onto the bed again.

"I'm not an invalid, Sam. Help me up." Dean growled.

Sam flinched away from the harshness of Dean's voice, but at the same time he rose up and extended his hand to help the older man up from the bed. He didn't let go of Dean's arm until Dean was standing firmly on his own two feet. The moment he realized that Dean wouldn't topple over he sank to his knees again. He sighed in content as Dean's hand rested on his head, his fingers curling into his hair.

It felt natural to Dean to have Sam kneeling next to his side. On the one hand it made him frown and he wanted to grab Sam by his arms to heave him up, but instead his hand found Sam's hair and as his fingers raked through the silky strands he could feel Sam relax next to him and he knew that his Angel wanted this as bad as he himself needed it. The details would be sorted out later. Now it was time for a shower and something to eat.

[ ](http://s792.photobucket.com/albums/yy202/Dont_hate_me01/spn_illuminated/?action=view&current=Angels-2.jpg)

  
**1 Month Later**

Sam looked at Dean from underneath his long bangs. They were seated across from each other in a rundown diner on the outskirts of one or another one-horse town. Dean had ordered for the both of them and they were awaiting their food patiently. Dean was scanning the newspaper, something that he did on a daily basis. It was the first morning that there was no article in the newspaper on what happened at the warehouse. Sam felt relieved about that. He could see by Dean's shoulders that he felt the same way.

"What would make hikers disappear in the middle of nowhere?" Dean mumbled and scanned the article again.

"Could be a number of things. Maybe a Wendigo?" Sam said softly.

"Why not a werewolf?"

"Not the right time of the month."

Dean nodded his head, "Right, no full moon." He folded the paper and then looked at Sam. "We need to talk, Angel."

Sam nodded his head, but didn't answer. He knew that this conversation was going to happen one or other time and he couldn't help but feel apprehensive about it. "Did you want to talk now?"

Dean shook his head. "No, we'll do breakfast first and then head over to the park a few miles back. It's time both of us got a little sun."

Sam nodded again but said nothing as the waitress appeared next to them and placed their food in front of them. She looked at Sam and at the bowl of fruit in front of him. "Are you sure you don't want anything else, sweetie?"

Sam looked at Dean for his nod of approval before he answered. "Thank you, this is enough."

"If you say so." She walked away, never once looking in Dean's direction. Sam couldn't help but smirk as he heard Dean's soft growl. He didn't comment on it, but waited until Dean picked up his own cutlery before he picked up his spoon and scooped up the first piece of fruit.

"She thinks I'm letting you starve." Dean mumbled in between bites of his own food.

"You know what I need." Sam stated, but said nothing else. He could feel Dean wanted to say something more, but when Dean remained quiet he went on eating his own breakfast in peace. Soon both of their plates were empty and Sam waited patiently for Dean to settle the bill before both men left the diner.

Sam couldn't help but smile as Dean let his fingers run over the side of the magnificent black car. He still could see the awe in Dean's eyes the first time they went to collect the Impala. It was as if Dean fell in love with car. It also meant that Sam never got the chance to drive his own car again, but it didn't matter; in fact it, felt natural for Dean to drive and for him to claim shotgun.

The trip back to the park was done in silence and Dean was relieved to see that it was empty except for the two of them. He set them down at a table close the edge of the water. His hands were stretched in front of him, his fingers tangled together. Sam was seated across from him, his head bowed, his own hands settled on his lap.

"You're my brother, Sam." Dean spoke first. "You know who I am, what I've done, what I'm capable of doing. You know that I will never be _normal_ , I will never fit in with the rest of society, not even with all the therapy in the whole world." He took a deep breath. "You also know what I need to keep me sane, but I'm wondering why you’re doing this." He raised a hand to indicate for Sam to wait as he saw his brother's head snap up to interrupt him. "Please, let me finish." He waited for Sam to nod in agreement before he continued. "It will not be easy. Not on me, and especially not on you. If we do this Sam, neither of us can turn back or just step away. I will not be held accountable for my actions should you decide that this is not for you. So, if you are going to someday realize that you want out, I will in all likelihood kill you, I will not be able to just let you go. At this stage, right now, it will be hard for me, but I will still be able to let you go." He didn't add that he had no idea what would happen to him then, but that didn't concern Sam.

Sam sighed and then looked up into Dean's green eyes. It was something he didn't do often, but he needed it now. "I know that you're my brother. I've been looking for you everywhere. In my sleep, my dreams and the different schools I attended, on each and every hunt we went on. I even looked underneath each car in Bobby's yard for you one year, because I dreamt that is where I would find you. I might have only been six when you were taken away from us, but you were already everything in my world. Dad would've had to ask me two to three times to go and take a bath, you just had to look at me and gesture towards the bathroom for me to strip myself down and run to get a bath. You were the one who raised me for the first six years of my life and although I'm not saying that dad was bad at that, I just never felt the connection with him that I had with you. He still struggled to get me to obey his orders until one day I took my stubbornness too far and he spanked me. I was seventeen at that time and something fell into place for both of us. He stepped up my training, he took away my choices and it worked out perfectly. He never called it something specifically and I only later realized what it was called, but I was certain of one thing. I was a natural submissive and by me letting him take control over my actions it made me a better hunter." Sam stopped as he saw the way Dean tensed up. "No, Dean. He never got sexual with me. He would only punish me when I needed it, kept me in line when I strayed too far and he would ground me when I needed it most. I lived for his praise and on those rare occasions he did give it to me, I knew I earned it. It kept me focused and that's what in the end made me find you. I'll always be a submissive. Bobby knows this, but although he's got that air of gruffness around him, he just couldn't keep me in line. Trust me, we tried." He sighed, "Dean, I know what I'm getting myself into here. I know that we'll never be brothers. Too much water under the bridge for that, but I know that you need me, just as badly as I need you and I'm willing to submit to you in everything. I'm not saying I will be a ragdoll to push around, I'm too stubborn for that, but I know it will work out. I will not back out of it. I can't." He paused for one second. " You are not to me what Samuel Colt was to you. I'm Sam and I'm going into this with everything I've got inside of me."

Dean's head snapped up at the last sentence. It was one topic they didn't breach. But when he saw the look on Sam's face he knew that that was the last word spoken on the matter. It will never be mentioned again. Dean was also not surprised with what Sam told him, but then he should've known. Sam was just too comfortable with what he was doing for this to be his first time at being submissive. "What about sex, you do realize that I will want to use your body for my own pleasure."

"Dean, I've been hard for you since the first time I laid eyes on you since I found you again. If this didn't lead to sex and if you didn't use my body for your pleasure I would assume that I was doing something wrong - that I was not serving you correctly." He smiled as Dean raised an eyebrow.

"You're vey cocky, you do realize that. I'm going to love putting you in your place." He smiled as Sam blushed.

"Someone needs to keep me in place, and you need someone to keep you on your toes."

"You're so right, Sammy." Dean smiled again. "Are you sure you still want to hunt?"

Sam nodded his head. They had many hours to kill while they waited for the storm surrounding Dean to die down. Naturally it lead to them talking about what was out there. Sam knew Dean would be a great hunter and it came naturally to ask him to help him and Bobby do just that. "I'm sure. I trust you with everything to know that you will not place any restrictions on me during a hunt." He looked down for one second before he raised his eyes again. "I might be a submissive, but I can take care of myself. I will not back down from a hunt and if you ever think of shutting me out because you think a hunt might be too dangerous for me, I will disobey your orders and will gladly accept my punishment later."

Dean smirked. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Both men fell into a natural silence. The wind blowing lightly through the trees and rippling the water on the lake the only sounds to be heard.

"Sam?" Dean started to speak up but stopped as Sam rose to his feet and then gently kneeled down next to him.

"I am your submissive. I am here to serve you in every way I can. I am here for your service, your pleasure, but I'm also here out of my own free will. Please accept me as yours."

Dean groaned and pulled Sam hard to his feet before he moved his own body and let Sam sat astride of him. He was well aware of both their straining cocks brushing hard against one another. "Need to go and buy you a lovely collar, my Angel. The whole world will know that you belong to me.” Dean crashed their mouths together and sighed in pleasure as Sam surrendered under his kiss and let his tongue slip in deep, claiming Sam as his.

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**6 Months Later**

Sam arched from the table. The leather cuffs kept him in place, not giving him any leeway to get nearer to his goal. He hated the ball gag that was stuffed into his mouth, but knew he deserved it as Dean told him more then once to remain silent. But it was impossible to do that when your brother, your Master, was slowly dragging one of his scalpels along the inside of your thighs, creating the words that would in a few months time be visible forever. He could feel his cock straining against the harness that Dean placed on him all those hours ago. When first Dean placed it on he was surprised that it was so lose, until he realize that he was meant to get hard and then the thing would hamper him. He would not be able to get any relief until Dean released him from the cage. Dean was one sneaky bastard, but Sam loved him.

He hummed against the ball as Dean's knuckles brushed against his sack. The feather light touch burned him to his core. His whole body was covered in sweat and the sting it caused when each and every droplet run down onto the carved marks made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Sam was aware of the tears that ran down his face. He was on sensory overload and wanted nothing more then to feel Dean buried deep inside of him. He tilted his head as one of Dean's palms came to rest on his cheek. "You're doing so well, Angel. Give it up, just for me." That was all that he needed to hear and he sighed as his body gave up on its struggle to be in control. No longer did his muscles tense up beneath Dean's hands. His breath evened out and he found himself breathing in sequence with Dean. He could feel the blade scratching away on his skin. It no longer burned, but it soothed him. He could feel each letter, each word Dean carved into him and he could find no objection to the words being edged into his skin. He moaned as Dean's hands moved away but sighed in relief as Dean started to work on his ankle bindings. He didn't protest when Dean shoved his legs up so that they bent at his knees. He groaned with want as Dean dipped his finger into his tight hole, his lower body pushing down into the intrusion to get even closer to that single finger.

He whimpered through the gag as Dean withdrew the finger but his eyes grew huge as two replaced it. His body was so hot that the cold lube Dean used to slick his fingers warmed against his skin the moment Dean's fingers settled within him. He balled his fists wanting, needing to touch Dean, but due to the gag in his mouth he had no way of pleading for that. His hips bucked in rhythm to Dean's fingers fucking inside of him. Their movement was slow, a torture on its own. He gasped for air as his head was raised from the table and the gag released with a snap. "Master." He gasped again as a third finger joined the other two in his tight channel.

"Mine." Dean snarled and pushed his fingers in deeper, spreading them wide to stretch Sam for his cock. He worked his fingers slowly and with purpose, only brushing against Sam's prostate on every other stroke. When Sam's head was rolling side-to-side, soft whimpers escaping from his mouth, Dean withdrew his fingers and slicked himself up. He pushed Sam's legs up towards his shoulders and got onto the table and guided his aching cock into Sam. Both men gasped as the head pushed through the first tight ring and they groaned in unison as Dean didn't stop, but kept on pushing in, filling Sam with one single thrust. Only when his balls where smack against Sam's, did Dean stop. He took a deep breath, made sure Sam took at least two and then slowly he started to move. He kept his strokes long and equal, wanting to feel each inch of Sam's tight channel around him. He knew his eyes were filled with lust and he could see the same in Sam's hazel eyes. He raised himself a bit and knew he brushed against Sam's prostate when Sam nearly bucked them both of the table. Sam's scream was loud, but it was like music to his ears and he kept on pushing and sliding in and out at the same pace just to make Sam scream again and again. He looked at Sam's wrists and saw how red and raw they looked and he leant his body weight forward while at the same instant he stopped moving all together. He could feel his cock pulsating inside of Sam, he could feel Sam's body clenching around him and he made a note to spend some time in the future just laying inside of Sam like this, for as long as possible. This was not that time however. The moment he loosened the cuffs he ran his thumbs over the bruised area. He felt Sam's pulse racing underneath his fingers and smiled softly. They were both alive. "Love seeing you like this, my Angel." He didn't give Sam a chance to reply but took his mouth in a lingering kiss and then as he broke if off he thrust in hard. He heard Sam's gasp combined with his own and he did it again. The pace became brutal, flesh slapped against flesh but he wanted nothing more than just that.

"Master, please, please." Sam begged. He was crying again, his cheeks tear strained. His cock was going to explode if Dean didn't release him from his cage in the next few seconds.

Dean smirked as he lowered his one hand between their bodies and reached for the release on Sam's cage. His Angel has not received any relief for the past week and knew that his orgasm would be something magnificent. "You're not allowed to cum until I've emptied myself inside of you, is that clear, Angel?"

"Master," Sam gasped as Dean pegged his prostate again, but nodded his head. He would do anything to please Dean, even if it meant holding on to his last piece of sanity for another eon or two.

"Good boy, so good." Dean grunted as his rhythm faltered and his own released spread out from him in thick strands. He could feel himself filling up Sam's hole with his seed and was glad that he placed the plug next to Sam's head just before he started to play with him. He would seal himself inside of Sam so that when he took Sam again his tight hole and channel would be slick of him and only him. When the last tremors moved through his body he withdrew his cock and even as Sam started to moan about the loss he got hold of the plug and pushed it in. It was not as wide as Dean himself, but it would keep Sam stretched, that was for sure.

"Master," Sam gasped as Dean pushed the toy home. It was not as flexible as Dean's cock. The hard ridges made Sam aware of the toy in every possible way. It wasn't made any easier by the fact that he still hadn’t come and for a second he wondered if Dean was going back on his word and let him suffer with this raging hard on for longer.

"Please," he begged and raised his hips to get Dean's attention.

"Demanding, are you?" Dean snapped the cock cage open, took Sam's shaft in his hand and stroked the head with his thumb. He knew just how sensitive Sam had to be.

"Not demanding, Sir, begging." Sam gasped as Dean's thumb stroked over the head again.

"You could've fooled me." Dean grinned, but then leant in and let his warm breath wash over Sam's aching cock. "Cum for me, Angel." He took Sam's cook deep into his own throat in one motion, feeling it slide right down his throat as his gag reflex gave way. He could hear Sam scream his name and at the same time Sam's hot spunk filled his throat and his mouth. Dean kept on sucking hard on Sam's cock, milking him as Sam continued to squirt out his semen. He loved the taste of Sam on his tongue, against his teeth and down his throat. Only when Sam whimpered and started to back away from his stroking tongue did he release Sam's cock from his mouth. He smiled as he looked at Sam. His Angel's eyes were glazed over, his movements slack and he knew he would have no difficulties in getting Sam to sleep deep tonight.

He smiled as Sam whispered a thank you before Dean got off the table and gathered Sam into his arms. He gently set Sam down in the bathroom and started the shower. He made sure Sam could stand on his own two feet before he washed both of them clean. After the shower he rubbed Sam down and then led him over to their bed. Sam was almost asleep and Dean knew he would be in dreamland even before he could have a final look at his work on Sam's thighs.

Dean was glad to see that Sam was calm again. He knew that Sam was a bit on edge and knew it was because of the fact that they were heading towards Bobby. He had only spoken to the seasoned hunter over the phone and knew Sam was stressed over the upcoming meeting. The fact that Sam's spanking of the morning hadn't taken the edge off confirmed his suspicion. He hoped that this session would reassure Sam again that everything would be fine. If this didn't do the trick then his ass would hurt like hell for the next few coming days.

He saw that Sam's breath had even out and knew that Sam would sleep deep through the night. Gently he moved Sam's legs apart to look at the words he carved in Sam's inner thighs. The left leg read _'Property of Dean Winchester.'_ The right thigh read _'Submissive, lover, partner and brother.'_ It would take a few months of gentle torture before the words would be fully carved in, but he knew that once Sam read it he'd have difficulty in getting Sam's attention away from it. Not that that bothered Dean, he could think of plenty of ways to get Sam's attention back on him.

He made sure that the wounds were not bleeding and then slipped in bed next to Sam. His brother curled around him in a second and even sighed softly as Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's cock to hold him close for the rest of the night. Both of them had come a long way and they still had a long way to go. They were off to go and hunt some demons; Bobby was in need of a torturer and there was no one else for the job, except him. He knew Sam was worried about that, but he would show his Angel that just as he was responsible for grounding Sam, Sam was the one who grounded Dean. It was the way things were meant to be. It was the way things would always be.

**The End**


End file.
